Walkabout
by DrunkenGrognard
Summary: Part 4 of the Grand Tour series. Ranma decides that it's time to get his life in order. What could possibly go wrong?
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: as always I don't own these fics and worlds, I'm just borrowing them to have a bit of fun. Please don't sue, I'm poor._

Prologue

Nanoha Takamachi gave her wife's hand a squeeze as they sat on the park's bench, watching Vivio play with some other girls her age. The youngster seemed to be having a wonderful time as she ran madcap with the others in a game of tag. Nearby, Nanoha and Fate could see other couples watching their own children, or simply walking along. There was a sense of peace pervading the park, and indeed, most of the world.

"Coming here was a good idea," said Fate.

"Oh, yes," agreed Nanoha, exchanging a polite smile and nod with one of the passing couples. "Mejale is a beautiful planet."

In the aftermath of the Battle of the Rift, the Time-Space Administration Bureau and the Dimensional Republic of Bradeson had buried the proverbial hatchet, bringing their two-year war to a close. But in it's wake had come a great deal of politics. Both the TSAB and the Bradesons were maintaining contact with various spacefaring civilizations who had come to their aid at the Rift, paying court and engaging in diplomacy. The hot war had gone cold, but for the moment at least it showed no signs of blowing open again.

The _Nirvana_'s Captain had requested aid from both the Bureau and the Bradesons to deal with the mysterious 'Harvesters' that threatened their homeworlds of Tarak and Mejale. Both groups had sent task forces, and the Harvesters had been utterly crushed by their combined might. Tarak and Mejale were not magical societies, but they were otherwise quite advanced, and diplomats had followed closely behind the gunboats. Unspoken, but still clear, was that if either dimensional power tried to force the issue, their newfound peace would quickly shatter, so it was the velvet glove that Bradeson extended and not the iron fist.

The Bureau's protective stance and general soft touch on things had appealed to Mejale, while the more militant nature of the Republic had appealed to Tarak, and perhaps inevitably, each greater power was in favour with a different planetary one. Nanoha, though not a student of politics, felt that the Bureau had the better end of that deal. She smiled as the sound of children laughing drifted over her, and she and Fate beamed at their adopted daughter as she played with the others.

Yes, starting their year's sabbatical by visiting this world was a good idea in many ways. The people were interesting and friendly, the world itself beautiful, and the technology very interesting. For a few years, elements of the TSAB's bureaucracy had been subtly trying to pry Nanoha and Fate apart. The Bureau always needed more mages, and always looked ahead with hope and fear for their next generation. Two women together, though legal and mostly socially acceptable, was less _practical_, in their minds, when both women were powerful mages – apart, with appropriate males, they could produce strong mages for the next generation.

Mejale, being a world peopled entirely by women, had a way around human nature's normal restrictions. The local doctors were polite and supportive, and would be able to help.

And if that didn't shut up the bureaucrats, nothing would.

* * *

Vivio Takamachi laughed as she chased after the other girls. She was 'it' – though no-one had yet been able to tell her precisely what 'it' actually _was_ – and thus it was her turn to chase. Chase she did, though the other girls had an undeniable home-park-advantage. She was quick, however, and Fate-Mama had taught her how to pick the swiftest path quickly.

It was only a little odd to be somewhere with mostly just girls, so far as she was concerned. It was a bit like visiting Auntie Hayate, only none of the animals here could talk. And even if they could, she doubted any of them would be as smart as Zafira. But none of the girls here could fly, and they weren't fast enough to stay away from her for long. Even when she tripped – like -_oof- _now – she could always scramble back to her feet. Grass washed out. Getting back up when you fell was the important thing to do, Nanoha-Mama had taught her that well.

She liked this place. The food was good, and the people were friendly, and nobody looked down their noses at her mamas when they thought that they wouldn't see, or made those weird _tsk_ing noises. Vivio liked that. Uncle Yuuno and Uncle Chrono were fun, but she was happy with her mamas. She got to see Yuuno plenty, and even when she couldn't, like now- he was somewhere called Seyruun digging for something called a Claire Bible – he was only a call away. And he would always have candy or presents for her when she did see him. Uncles were great.

Cousins were fun too – she'd played with Uncle Chrono's children lots, and they were fun. Lots more fun than Uncle Chrono, who was always so serious if there were lots of grown-ups around.

Sisters... well, she wasn't sure what having little sisters would be like, but her mamas wanted to give her some. And they thought it was important. So she'd be brave for her mamas.

0o0

The wind howled around him, blowing snow gouging at him like claws even through the heavy robe he had thrown over his usual garments. As he staggered against the blowing wind, Genma Saotome gritted his teeth, one gloveless hand wiping condensation from his eyeglasses.

_This is horribly unfair_, he thought, squinting into the howling blast. _Not twenty minutes ago it was clear. This entire 'magical world' is just messed up._

He'd been traveling the Magical World for a few months now, seeking a legendary master reputed to know over a thousand secret techniques – Nagi Springfield. He hadn't caught the entire story back in Tokyo before setting off – officially, the Magical World Did Not Exist, and so people seldom spoke of it openly. It was Japan's 'hole card' in the changing world order – a magically fluent power with several ties to them, one willing to exchange knowledge for privacy. It wasn't common knowledge, and Genma himself had only heard of it from some of the people his ungrateful son associated with – the boy had shamefully allowed himself to become shackled to the military, for all his claims of independence.

Fortunately, a few of Ranma's compatriots were wise enough to see past the folly of the boy's rejection of his father's wisdom. One such had told Genma about the Magical World, and from there, he'd set off, in search of a cure. Jusenkyo was rumored to still be unstable since being flooded three years ago; and a dangerous place to travel in any event – China was not reacting well to the changing world, and strife was widespread. Not the sort of thing a respectable martial artist like himself wanted anything to do with.

So, he'd come to the Magical World thanks to a little careful sneaking. The Umi Sen Ken was his truest masterpiece, and it had stood him in good stead. Once within the Magical World, he had begun to travel, making his way in his usual fashion. Rumor had it that Springfield was estranged from his own son – a commonality between them that would likely serve him well in drawing out this master and learning from him. And even if the Thousand Master was only a mage, well, Ranma had learned to manipulate magic with ki, or so Soun had relayed from his daughters, and he'd taught the boy everything he knew. Surely he could puzzle it out as well. Once he'd learned some choice secret techniques, he'd be able to sort his ungrateful boy out.

The only problem was, he was becoming increasingly certain that this land was literally trying to kill him.

Genma took shelter for a moment in the lee of a standing stone. Even in a spot where the wind wasn't actively blowing snow, it was most of the way to knee deep, and still bitterly cold. He pulled a small cloth from a pocket, cleaned his glasses, then squinted into the storm. Beyond a few dozen yards, everything was a whitewash. But it seemed a bit darker in one direction, as if something else was there, casting a shadow.

Genma wasn't sure where he was or what he would find. But, he thought as he pulled the cloak more tightly about himself, if he didn't find shelter soon, this weather would be his death.

For a brief moment he wished he'd managed to puzzle out Ranma's fire-making trick – a little melted snow and he'd have a thick fur coat of his own, one proof against the weather. But his ungrateful son had refused to share that secret. And after all he'd done for the boy!

Taking a deep breath, Genma plunged back into the blowing snow, gritting his teeth as the shrieking wind gouged and clawed at him with renewed fury. The dark blur might be trees or mountain or just about anything. But it was better than staying out in this to freeze.

* * *

The manor was a massive edifice of black stone, the corners of her roof guarded by the carved shapes of gargoyles that Genma could just barely make out against the storm. It formed a lee in the howling blast, and he shook snow from his cloak as he skirted the edge of its towering walls. He could see a few windows along the wall, set into the stone and, looking in, shuttered with some heavy material. He recognized it from his time in Magical World cities, as well as the runes etched into it. He was yet to devise a way to get through shutters like those – even Yama Sen Ken vacuum blades couldn't mark them – and all trying would do is set off an alarm. Given that this was the only shelter he'd seen in hours and he dearly did not wish to anger a potential host, he'd not try to break in.

Halfway around the manor, and back into the storm's fury, he found a door adorned with a massive, imposing iron knocker in the shape of a demonic face, ring through its teeth. He breathed a silent prayer that someone within would hear it over the wind.

There was a long, bad minute where nothing responded, then he heard a heavy clank, like a bar being drawn, and the door opened inward. He all but dove through that opening, and behind him the doors closed with a low, heavy _boom_. He turned as a bar clanked home, saw black iron settle into its holders as a tall, slight figure pushed it into place.

She turned, and he took a brief moment to look his hostess/rescuer over. She looked _gaijin_, shoulder-length blonde hair pulled back into a pair of braids, framing a heart-shaped face dominated by striking round eyes of royal purple. A wide, winning smile split it, showing plenty of gleaming white teeth. She was perhaps an inch taller than he was, slim but not gaunt, skin _gaijin_ pale but with a healthy glow and a faint dusting of freckles that he could see. Simple, comfortable looking robes of midnight blue clothed her, hinting at curves without flaunting them.

He bowed slightly. "Thank you, ma'am, for allowing me into your home." To be polite cost him little at the moment. He lacked Ranma's refined ability to sense things with his ki – another secret the ungrateful boy had refused to share – but his own rudimentary senses told him that his hostess was a mage, her aura thick with power.

She smiled, and it was a brilliant smile, showing a mouth full of perfect, gleaming white teeth. "Well, ah couldn't just leave you out there, t'weather ain't fit for man nor beast tonight." A pause, as she gave him another look. "What brings you out here t' this corner of t' Magical World?"

_Well... honesty probably won't hurt me that much._ "Following rumors. I'm trying to find the one known as the Thousand Master."

His hostess nodded, an expression of sudden understanding. "Ah've heard the rumors about Springfield comin' this way, too. Ain't put much stock in 'em myself, but it's a worthy enough quest." A pause. "What's your name, stranger?"

Another brief pause. While Genma was fairly sure there were no active warrants out for him just now, he hesitated to just tell the woman who he was. And yet, what could it hurt? Even in the real world, his fame was not widespread. In the Magical World, where his home was thought of in tones of pity as much as anything else – save for some few who wondered just how... militantly... the rest of the world would respond to learning of the Magical World's existence and deliberate non-action during the Bradeson invasion – what were the odds that he was known? No-one in the towns he'd traveled so far had known him.

"Genma Saotome, Master of the Anything Goes school of Indiscriminate Grappling." He wasn't, technically, a master – While Ranma had defeated Happosia, he himself had not, and neither of them had granted him mastery – but such trivial technicalities as that wouldn't matter here, he was sure.

The woman froze. "_Saotome_?" she asked, enunciating with great care.

He blinked, nodded fractionally.

"Any relation tah _Ranma_ Saotome?" Her voice was thick with emotion, hope and fear and joy, laced with something else that Genma could not quantify.

_Well, it's not as if the ungrateful boy hasn't been making friends with honorless mages for the last few years... _Carefully neutral, Genma answered, "My son."

The blonde loosed an ear-tearing squeal of girlish glee, then quickly choked it back. "Well ah never. Ah have been a poor hostess. Mah name is Kendra Zendor, Mister Saotome." She extended him a hand.

Guessing as he recovered from the piercing squeal, Genma took the hand and gently kissed the back of it. "It is an honor, miss Zendor." _Her reaction is a positive one... _"Might I ask how you know of my son? Our world is not generally well thought of here..."

She smiled. "Ah know better than t' take what t' news tells me as holy writ, Mister Saotome. Ah been doin' some readin' of mah own." She turned, walked into a parlor just off the small entry hall. Flagstones of some dark stone peppered with specs of silver replaced the plain ones of the entry, and one wall was dominated by a large fireplace, complete with merrily roaring fire. Trying not to look too obvious about it, the Martial Artist headed there, noting in passing the woven rugs adding a splash of colour to the room, and the western style chairs and couch. A second wall, he noted, was taken up almost entirely by bookshelves, which made sense for a mage. They did like their books and lore and such.

Next to the fireplace was a freestanding cabinet of some sort that reminded Genma vaguely of a large family shrine, but whose double doors were closed. Zendor, giggling, twisted one handle and threw open the left-hand door. In the half of the cabinet thus revealed, Genma saw what seemed, indeed, to be a shrine.

A shrine dedicated to his son.

Dozens of pictures of Ranma were plastered into the cabinet, held in place by means ranging from novelty pins in the shapes of birds and hearts to stickers and tape. Magazine clippings, newsprint – he recognized one of the pictures from the 'one year later' report on the Battle of Tokyo, a group shot of the various magical girl and martial artist defenders, though cropped almost raggedly through Ryoga on Ranma's right and Akane on his left in odd contrast to the clean-cropped edges of the other pictures – tournament photos, several candid shots, and what looked like a number of the cheesecake photos Nabiki used to take and sell. Both his proper, manly form and his shameful cursed form featured in almost equal amounts.

Genma Saotome had made his way through life equally by skill at martial arts and skill as a con man/thief. He was seldom taken aback. This... shrine... took him very aback indeed.

"He's a lil' bit famous, an' ah am very much an admirer." Genma blinked back his surprise, smoothed his expression to impassiveness once more. _How do I want to play this?_ "Ah've heard so much about him, an' he is just so handsome. An' fer all it's a curse, _she_ makes a beautiful girl."

Genma twitched. _That_ he did not expect. "Jusenkyo is certainly... adept at making attractive versions of whatever it changes." Kamis knew, he'd had to outrun more than a few she-bears bent on... _interesting_ things over the years. One woman in his life was trouble enough.

Zendor gave him a dazzling smile. "Ah think there's more to it than that. He's quality, he is."

"Well yes," said Genma, a small ember of pride in his son warming. "I taught him everything he knows, of course."

The blonde looked almost shy for a moment. "Could you tell me some more about him?"

"Why not?" said Genma, smiling and settling on the couch. He had plenty of tales from his son's youth, and if he told a few, well, he'd almost certainly get something to eat out of it. As if reading his mind, Kendra opened a small cabinet next to the couch and pulled out a bottle of something honey-coloured. The martial artist's smile widened as she poured them each a glass, and he picked one of the funnier tales of his son's training to begin.

* * *

Kendra Zendor had listened to Genma Saotome for _hours_. The big panda – she'd been unable to resist testing the curse with a Conjure Water spell the once – was, a small, attempting-to-be-objective part of her mind insisted, not a terribly good storyteller. But she didn't mind. He was telling her about Ranma. That was all she needed.

Oh, Saotome wasn't unknown in the Magical World, but what knowledge there was of him was outdated, secondhand, and horribly biased. The mundanes were thought of mostly with pity, as though they could never live full, proper lives. There was also, after the Battle of Tokyo two years ago, a subtle, but growing, undercurrent of fear. Mundanes were a violent, vengeful lot, and without magic had become very creative indeed in finding ways to inflict death and destruction on others. The Magical World had considered isolation to be its best protection, and even if they hadn't been in the middle of a major crisis of their own, dealing with Avernicus, it was doubtful that any serious help would have been given.

When Earth won the war and gained new, potent magical allies, it was something of a game changer. Most of the Magical World wanted to stay hidden. They feared what the mundanes might try if they found out that the Magical World was here, and did nothing. They saw news of corporate villains, political shenanigans, and religious intolerance and thought that the mundanes were still trapped in the dark ages. Kendra knew better. She saw strength, perseverance, creativity, and heroes. A bootlegged news report of the Battle of Tokyo had shown her Ranma, and it had been love at first sight. She had _devoured_ any information she could find on the martial artist, and she knew, _knew_ that the aquatransexual was destined to be hers.

To speak with his father... it could only be destiny. It was also a bit odd – Saotome the elder almost seemed to hold his son in disfavor, and he seemed to regard Ranma's Jusenkyo curse as a horrid thing. His face had gotten very, very blank when she'd declared it a blessing, for it brought out the full measure of possible love to the younger martial artist. Perhaps it was inevitable – the martial arts seemed to be a conservative discipline, so it stood to reason that a master like Genma would also be conservative. And perhaps it also stood to reason that he held his son in disfavor, for the youth was not so short-sighted as to concentrate only on the martial arts.

That, as much as anything else, was why she was so enamored with Ranma. He built bridges between mages and mundanes. He refused to accept limits. He challenged traditions; sought new paths, and didn't stop until he found them. A man after her own heart.

As she sipped at hot cocoa, the magess abruptly realized that the sound of the storm – clearly audible even through the stone and wards of the manor – had faded. Genma seemed to notice at the same time; perhaps from seeing her start. They moved to the window, saw the beginnings of a crystal clear night. "I went on for longer than I expected," said Genma. He looked over the manor's grounds from the window. "A beautiful sight."

It was; a carpet of snow turning an admittedly plain courtyard into a crystal wonderland. "That it is."

"Still, I do not think I would enjoy trying to travel in that."

"Even yoah bear form would have trouble."

"Annoyingly enough, a fur coat doesn't keep one anywhere near as warm as you'd think. I don't suppose I could impinge on your hospitality a little longer? Enough to spend the night." A pause. "This couch would be more than fine."

* * *

Genma gave his hostess an aside look as he waited for her to answer his question. He wasn't quite sure what to make of her, all in all. His first impression was hero worship; a girl who'd lived a sheltered life and didn't really know what to do with the world. He was well aware that his son cut an impressive, larger-than-life figure – perhaps she'd just latched onto that. It would fit with the naivete she seemed to exhibit. But there was something more there – something that had caused him to censor what he said – she did not seem to react nicely to his disfavor of the ungrateful boy. And as he very much did not want to get thrown out into waist deep snowdrifts, he was making a point of not aggravating her.

So he was downplaying his son's failings and treading carefully. He didn't want to get thrown out, nor did he want to pick a fight with a sorceress in her own sanctum. He made himself breath as he waited for her answer. It wouldn't do to appear too... anxious.

"Mah hospitality does have a price, suh," she said slowly, a shrewd expression painting her face. "Ah would have to charge foah a night's stay."

"How much?" He'd acquired a bit of local currency in his usual fashion shortly after arriving in this world, and he still had a little. He was also feeling a little hurt. He'd spent hours telling this woman stories, and that wasn't enough? Ingratitude was just far too common among young people these days...

"A hundred pieces of gold."

Genma blanched. "I don't _have_ that much," he answered honestly.

"A shame," she said. Then, after a moment's thoughtful silence, she continued,"Ah have heard it said tha' you sometimes pay a bill w' an offer of yoah son's hand."

The martial artist thought for a long moment. He had done just that in the past, though it had been quite some time. He'd never honestly meant it – he took his agreement with Tendo seriously; any other oaths were simple matters of convenience. And it wasn't like some sheltered girl in the middle of nowhere in the magical world would ever actually _act_ on such a thing...

Pointedly ignoring the small voice in his head that whispered _this is a very bad idea_, he stuck out his hand. "Agreed."


	2. Chapter One

_Author's Disclaimer: still don't own these characters. Please don't sue_

Chapter One

Ranma Saotome leaned back into the water beating down onto his shoulders, letting its heat leach the pain and soreness from his muscles.

It had been most of two months since he and Lina Inverse had defeated the Mazoku known as Xellos, breaking the army laying siege to Seyruun. The doc's had worked their magic(literally and figuratively) on him, and the majority of the damage the false priest had done him had been repaired before he'd even returned to Earth. But not all of it. His arm was more or less one-hundred percent again, the bone healed cleanly, and just about all of the muscle mass he'd lost while it was immobilized in a cast worked back up. No more hitch in his breathing from cracked ribs. But the Mazoku had been in a _spectacularly _foul mood, and he'd left his indelible mark upon the aquatransexual.

Scars traced their way around his body – neck, shoulders, torso, calves, and even a thin one on his chin. They looked like pictures he'd seen of acid scars in their smoothness and general sorta-melted appearance, though drawn out and long like the mark of blades or claws. Those still ached, and they ached more when he was near magic.

The wards protecting the Saotome Dojo were a minor background ache, these days, like a stubbed toe. Ranma didn't mind all that much. There'd been many times when he'd been hurting a lot worse than this any given day, back when he was on that first great training trip with his father, or back when he was living at the Tendo place.

And the aches had another advantage: they made a reliable if slightly crude magic detector. It infuriated the Senshi – especially the Outers – that he'd found a way to counter their own magical stealth, just as it had infuriated him at first when they figured out a way around the Umi Sen Ken. He'd leave figuring out how he was doing it to be another lesson for them. And suppressing one's magical presence was the sort of thing that a high end martial art could use, even one as... unorthodox(even by his standards) as Maho Shojo Ryu(the Senshi were still pushing to throw some other stupid, 'more appropriate for Magical Girls' name on it, but he would hold his ground. It was probably inevitable, but by the Kamis, he'd try) was. Just as he himself had built off of the Umi Sen Ken, they'd almost certainly be able to come up with other good tricks from such a technique.

Finally, Ranma figured he'd had enough shower for the moment. A few aches left, but that was part of surviving the fights. The pain let you know that you were still alive. Stretching, he toweled off and pulled on some pants, headed for the kitchen. It had been a long day of classes, and he had his weekly report to finish up – somehow, he never managed to get those done any sooner than the night before he had to hand it off to Lieutenant Ito – so a quick snack wouldn't be a bad idea while he typed.

The report didn't take all _that_ long, all told, but it was annoying, and Ranma preferred to be active. Just sitting down doing paperwork didn't appeal to him, and computers were still, for him, a largely mysterious and arcane _thing_. Still, he'd learned. He'd had to, when he started up the Dojo. Nabs had offered to do the books for him, but he recognized her dangerous smile when he saw it, rather than her normal bored/amused smile. And it had helped some. It was one thing to recognize that he more or less needed to close some of the gaping holes in his education, and another entirely to go through with the boring grungework of it all. The math of balancing his books gave him something to point to when he started wondering if any of this would ever come in useful. The computer skills... well, the learning continued to surprise him; he'd probably find something interesting about them sometime.

School itself was done; he'd managed, barely, to pass everything; but he was still learning. There was just so _much_ his father had avoided teaching him, prevented him from learning, growing up. Catching up on everything took time, as did teaching martial arts, his personal practice, and working with the Senshi to keep developing their new, still growing and forming, school. There just weren't enough hours in the day, anymore.

But he was surviving, and getting better, becoming a man among men on his own terms, not his father's. The city was mostly rebuilt from the damage of the invasion, most of his friends from Nerima were hitting college – Uuchan and Shampoo had their restaurants, but Akane, Nabs, Hiroshi, and Daisuke were all hitting the books in search of various degrees. Akane, unsurprisingly, was going for Drama. He wished her luck.

As he wrote, his mind wandered to his fiancees, and the knotty problem those engagements represented. He needed to find some way to solve that problem; a way that wouldn't end in mass dishonor. More complicatedly, something that wouldn't end with him dead at the hands of one or more of the aforementioned fiancees or their paramours. Or run him afoul of his mother – he desperately did not want to disappoint her. Guh. A knotty problem indeed, and not the sort of thing to muse on while working on a report. Not if he didn't want to have to re-do it a time or two to get it 'acceptable.'

Writing soon enough done, he gave the report a last glance over – it hit the high points of the classes he was running for the JSDF as well as some general stuff – and figured it was good enough for government work, clicking the print button. He'd drop it off before classes in the morning. Now to sleep, and hopefully not wind up burning the few hours between now and when he needed to be up mulling his other problems.

* * *

Lieutenant Toshiro Ito, JSDF, smiled as his subordinate and (in his superior's wishes) protege Ranma Saotome walked into his office. "Good morning, Warrant."

Ranma paused, threw a jaunty but technically correct salute and said, "Mornin' Lieutenant Ito. Got my weekly report here." He passed over the printouts and came mostly to attention.

Ito started reading them over. He had a number of duties, of course, but unofficially, keeping Saotome as a friend of the JSDF was the most important of them at the moment. Higher wanted him wooed and, eventually, won into a full officer's roll, not just the reservist and unofficial trainer he was already. Several people at Higher had talked with soldiers who'd fought in the Battle of Tokyo, interviewed bystanders, and watched news footage. Especially footage of Nanoha Takamachi rolling over two regiments of Bradeson mecha and power armor with the help of three other magical girls at the outskirts of the Imperial Palace; power armor terrestrial weapons could barely scratch, and mecha that had laughed off the biggest guns in the JSDF's arsenal. They wanted to get some of that. After all, the treaty restricting the JSDF only to defensive weapons said nothing about mages or super martial artists.

No-one had asked Toshiro Ito if he thought so blatantly ignoring the spirit if not the letter of the treaty was a good idea, especially given how very excitable many of their allies in the world had become. No-one asked if he particularly _wanted_ to be the man tasked with wooing a stubborn font of chaos with an independent streak a kilometer wide into the military, or if he wanted to try and groom that rough spoken, disrespectful aquatransexual into proper officer material.

They'd just ordered him to do it, citing the fact that he met Ranma near the tail end of that self-same battle; and the martial artist seemed to respect him as much as he respected anything. Enough, at least, that when he'd barked an order to start pulling civilians out of the rubble, Saotome had jumped to it as fast as any of the troops under his command. The other martial artists with him at the time had followed, but slowly – and in the case of the Chinese, very reluctantly. Ito, his superiors reasoned, had a way with super-martial-artists, and would be a perfect choice.

Bakas, the lot of them. Not that he'd ever _say_ as much anywhere it might be overheard.

Ranma had pitched in with digging out trapped civilians, he later told the young officer, because it seemed the best thing to do at the time. He liked Ito because Ito had been in there with his men, digging and hauling, not just ordering and watching.

The report wasn't too bad. Part of his job was subtly encouraging Ranma to learn the various skills and qualities that an officer needed, and some of that was starting to pay off. The martial artist was getting noticeably better at the minutia of paperwork, though it still had a roughness that Ito was beginning to think he'd never break the younger man of. With some delicate nudging and a few years of experience, it might just be possible to turn Saotome into a semblance of an officer.

And even if he didn't, well, Ranma was still a valuable asset – loyal to Japan, with connections to a surprising number of other groups, and an excellent teacher. Even the majority of his students who were unable to 'properly' utilize ki became impressive fighters under his tutelage; he seemed to have a knack for spotting a person's problem areas and working through them. For that alone, the JSDF would do well to convince him to give up freelancing and join for real.

He had to smile as the random thought crossed his mind: the American term for an NCO turned officer, 'Mustang,' was rather more appropriate than usual for Ranma.

He glanced up from the report. Ranma was still more or less at attention, but his gaze was distant, distracted by something. He was probably brooding. Ranma brooded well, and often. He'd gotten a little better about it, these last two years, but it was a problem for him, especially when he was tired or distracted.

When he got back from his last TSAB excursion, arm still in a sling, cuts and scars still bandaged, from the battle of Seyruun, he'd done a lot of brooding, indeed, as he finished healing. He was looking like he was in a particularly black mood right now, as well. Ito paused in his reading. Impulsiveness wasn't normally considered a virtue in the JSDF, but he'd cultivated a bit of it, working with Saotome – it tended to be useful. He decided to make good on his impulse to try and help his subordinate with whatever was bothering him.

"How are you for time, Saotome?"

Ranma blinked, glanced over. "Uh, I got an hour or so before I need ta be back. Is there a problem, Lieutenant?"

"Not with the report. You look thoughtful."

"It's nothin,'" came his reply, too quick. Oh yes, something was definitely bothering the martial artist.

"Fair enough." Just asking wouldn't accomplish much, but there were ways to draw Ranma out. "Well, I don't have anything else to do for the next while – want to hit the base gym and show off for the brass for a few?"

Ranma grinned. "Is it time to justify our existence and munificent pay again already?"

"Probably. Can't hurt."

* * *

Toshiro Ito had never considered himself a martial artist. Early in life, he'd taken up the art as a form of exercise as much as anything else, and he'd taken the basic JSDF hand to hand combat training after joining up, but he was strictly an amateur. Even if his position as Ranma's superior officer hadn't made studying under the younger man... inadvisable, he probably wouldn't have sought such instruction out. He still ran through kata to exercise, as an alternative to painfully long runs, but that was more or less that, these days.

But even so, watching Ranma run through kata was incredible. Getting someone to spar with him was pointless – even the best martial artist on the base was a rank amateur compared to Saotome. But he would happily demonstrate kata from any number of martial arts, even some of his own devising. Those in particular could be spectacular, especially when they included some of his more advanced techniques.

Though even his most show-offy kata didn't showcase his best. Ito knew from half a dozen good sources that the younger man could literally throw fire, launch energy blasts, or conjure up a hurricane. Though it was probably for the best that he didn't do so on base.

Ito was running through a basic kata and keeping half an eye on Ranma. The usual crowd was in the base gym, along with a few dozen secretaries and servicewomen who 'just happened' to have some errand here. Most of them weren't even pretending not to stare. For that matter, so were a few of the men.

Ito understood. The phrase 'poetry in motion' was inadequate to describe Ranma when he was doing his martial arts, even now while distracted by whatever he'd been brooding about. Power and grace and speed, united in a shortish, black-haired package. One did not need much imagination to see what his various suitors saw in him. Or, for that matter, in her – more than once had Ranma been splashed with cold water during or before demonstrations on base. The aquatransexual tried to avoid it, and definitely found it annoying, but tried to at least react as if taking it in stride. Getting angry about it, he said, only seemed to encourage the gods to have more people do it to him. As long as all they did was look, he could live with it.

Though he was giving the admirers more quick glares than normal today, and looking even more thoughtful than he had back in the office. He suspected most of the watchers hadn't even noticed that part – he himself only noticed because he was specifically looking for it. Ranma did his best thinking while he was exercising, it seemed, and he wasn't wasting this opportunity.

Mindful of the time, and the fact that his subordinate was technically a reservist with a job to get to, Ito called a halt near the end of the hour Ranma mentioned he could spare. Ranma's genial expression slipped as he heard the disappointed sighs of the watchers, turning to a brief smirk before smoothing out. After a few moments to regain his breath – Ito was in good shape for a man his age, but forty minutes of exercise was plenty – the Lieutenant asked, "So, did you make any progress on whatever you're thinking about?"

Ranma – who didn't look even _slightly_ winded, damn him – gave him a rueful look. "You know me too well. Nah, I didn't get anywhere. One a' _those_ problems, ya'know? T' kind ya just end up goin' in circles tryin' ta solve." He shrugged. "I'll work somethin' out eventually."

"Talking about it might help." Ito ignored the dirty look Ranma gave him and continued, "I wouldn't mind being a sounding board." A rueful grin of his own. "Kamis know, part of my job _is_ specifically to try and keep you happy so you'll work with us more." The joke, one that had seen a lot of play over the last two years, got its requisite chuckle.

"Yeah, fair enough." Ranma took a breath, paused as he got his train of thought in order. "I know the 'multiple fiancees' thing is in my files. Tryin' ta figure out a way to resolve the issue without dishonoring everyone involved. Marry one of 'em, that's two dishonored, an' my family, too."

"And you want to avoid that."

"Absolutely. Ain't gonna drag the family honor through the mud no more."

"Like your father did?" Ito was watching for a reaction.

He got it- for an instant, ki flared around Ranma, then abruptly stopped. The martial artist's teeth ground as he said, "I am _nothing_ like my father. I am _not_ going to do more harm to the Saotome name!"

"I know you aren't." _Careful, Toshi, or he'll get _really_ mad at you. _"Just making sure I understand the situation."

Ranma took a deep breath, held it for a long moment, then released it. "Yeah. Sorry. Sensitive subject, but that don't mean I got t' right ta blow up atcha over it." He shook his head. "There's gotta be some way ta fix this, some way ta redeem the situation."

"Or a least worst solution."

"Least worst?"

Ito shrugged, tried to appear more nonchalant than he felt. Ranma could get very touchy indeed when it came to his honor. "Well, I'll grant I've never been in a situation quite that... complicated, but from where I stand, there _isn't _a way out without some dishonor."

The martial artist winced. "Yeah, I know," he said quietly. "An it ain't like I'm doin' myself any favours draggin' it out. I just... I hate to lose."

"We all do."

"What's the regular military way to get out of a no-win situation? The 'drag 'em down with me' plan?"

"You know better than that, Saotome. We have many reactions for no-win scenarios; mutually assured destruction is only one of them." Ito gave him a look. "There's no such thing as a perfect plan; something can and will go wrong at some point." A shrug. "You make the best plan you can, and improvise when it comes apart."

Ranma sighed. "That sounds way too familiar. Only I don't seem ta be all that great at improvisin.'"

"You seem to do all right from where I can see."

"I try." a thoughtful pause – Ranma had an expression of concentration, as if some idea had just struck him. "So. Improvise. Guess that goes with some of the stuff I hear you guys say."

"Oh?"

"Like, 'no plan survives contact with the enemy.'"

"Indeed. I'm also fond of 'a good plan, violently executed now, is better than a perfect plan later.' Especially since there's really no such thing as a perfect plan."

"It's got a ring to it." A pause. "An' draggin' this out ain't helpful. Thanks fer listenin,' I might be able to do somethin' with all that." He produced a cell phone, checked the time, and grimaced. "I gotta hurry, if I'm gonna be in time for my first class. Any special orders an' whatnot before I bail?"

"Just the usual, this week." The two exchanged salutes – Ranma's was starting to get almost regulation. As the martial artist gathered himself, Ito decided to act on another impulse. "And Ranma? Another little pithy saying about plans: 'don't let the perfect become the enemy of the good.'"

0o0

Akane Tendo knew she would probably do herself the most good to roofhop from campus to Ranma's dojo for the night's martial arts practice/general fun times. Or perhaps even practice her still rudimentary flying skills, however much Tokyo authorities might frown on people flying around within city limits. But she had altogether too much homework for this early in the semester, and she needed to concentrate on it at least some. Thus, the light-rail most of the way, and in a few more stops, she'd walk the last few blocks. She loved martial arts. She loved some of the _really cool_ things she could do with them – she could fight Shampoo or Ukyo to a standstill, more often than not, these days, at least in their friendly spars.

But she'd also taken on a rather painful amount of debt to study Drama, and she would be damned before she blew it off.

The light rail was new, supplementing the not-quite-rebuilt Tokyo subways that had suffered extensive damage during the invasion. On her more adventuresome days, Akane had followed Ranma's lead and actually ridden atop the things – the new tracks never dipped underground, and even in the covered stations, there was more than enough clearance for it to be almost safe. She was more than strong enough to keep a solid grip, and it was excellent practice for fine ki manipulation, keeping those grips on smooth metal. And, in her most self-honest of moments, she could admit to herself that a part of her; the part that enjoyed fighting for its own sake and felt the drive to always become stronger; was almost as much an adrenaline junkie as Ranma.

As she slipped her rail-card through the turnstile's reader and made her way to the platform, Akane smiled thinly. Martial artist, aspiring actress, and a bit of an adrenaline junkie. She was comfortable with those labels. A far cry from the young teen who'd wanted, more than anything, to be a proper, traditional Lady like her big sister and barely-remembered Mother. She'd learned, and accepted, that she'd never be Kasumi. And Kasumi could never be her. And neither of them could be Nabiki, which was probably for the best. The middle Tendo sister could be downright scarey. But when the three of them worked together... Her smile pulled into a smirk as she remembered the face of that Tibetan warlord they'd humbled last year.

College wasn't quite what she'd expected. She had, in all honesty, expected it to be a little less wacky than highschool under the demented oversight of Principal Kuno. It was every bit as crazy, just in different ways. Her classmates were, as was perhaps appropriate for a bunch of Drama majors, the sort of folk you shook your head at and called 'a bunch of characters.' She'd suspect it was just a Drama major thing, but she'd met some of Nabiki's business major classmates, and knew better.

Either everyone was crazy, or Ranma's knack for landing hip-deep in madness had rubbed off on them. Akane wasn't sure which possibility she preferred.

Still, it was good times, and she was pursuing one of her more realistic dreams. Most of the other Drama majors liked her, as well as just about all of the stunties she'd met. Many of them were trying to woo her over to the 'dark side' of stunt work. She planned to pick up some of the specialized skills it required – if nothing else, they'd have other applications for a martial artist – but her dream was to be a leading lady. Though she was probably going to get more action rolls than romances – something else she'd come to terms with.

* * *

A bolt of sea-green magic intersected a bright-blue blast of ki and exploded, the concussion toppling a few drinks and pushing a chair over. Still in mid-air, Sailor Neptune darted backwards, away from Ranma's inevitable follow-up lunge, throwing up a barrier.

The red-haired martial artist charged into the air after her, one hand glowing with collected ki and tapping a precise, rapid pattern on the shield. "Tortoise Cracking Finger!"

Michiru suppressed the urge to swear and tried to compensate for the energy disrupting her barrier spell. It held for a moment, then the entire thing imploded in a flat BANG that rattled the cups some more, and she darted backwards, trying to stay out of Ranma's reach.

Not quite fast enough – the aquatransexual got one hand on the hem of her Barrier Jacket and used her still-surprising-after-two-years-of-sparring speed to haul herself behind the taller girl, throwing an arm across the teal-haired Senshi's neck and trying to swing her into a full submission hold, winning the match by pinning. As quick as she could, Michiru twisted, whispered a word of power, and the defensive enchantments of her Barrier Jacket lashed out, sending Ranma flying before the redhead could secure her grapple. She smirked; a lot of work had gone into learning a way to make that spell work with a single word and not an incantation, and it worked perfectly on the first try. A widespread blast of water chased after the redhead – probably futile but it would give her something else to think about for a few seconds – and Michiru shot towards the ceiling of the converted warehouse, Ocean Choir glowing as it gathered power.

She wouldn't be able to use all it's potential, of course, not indoors, but there were so _many _things it was easier to do with a goodly supply of power in hand. Such as throw up a shield to stop the ki blast Ranma was sending at her. The girl seemed _annoyed_ at the moment, as if the very idea of one of the Outer Senshi challenging her in a spar was an affront.

The ki-blast hit – and belatedly Michiru realized her mistake. There had been no substance to the blast, simply a great deal of flash and thunder. It burst against her shield like a soap bubble. Of _course_ Ranma's blast had been a feint – she rather disliked blowing holes in her own roof, after all. And while she could pierce the martial artist's invisibility, the spell to do it took a few seconds – seconds she didn't have as Ranma suddenly tackled her, getting her in another hold and using her own flight abilities to haul the fight to the mat. Her Barrier Jacket trick wouldn't work yet – without an incantation, it needed too many seconds to charge between blasts.

But where Ranma – and, for that matter, Ryoga, Shampoo and Akane – flew by sheer, ki generated, brute thrust, the Senshi flew by using magic to spit defiance in the eye of gravity. She shouted a word of power and whacked at Ranma's shoulder as best she could with Ocean Choir, the coral-pink haft loosing some of its accumulated magic in the closest she could get to a taser. At the same time, she rammed her other arm back, elbow seeking Ranma's stomach, and twisted away. The combination popped her out of Ranma's hold as the redhead's shoulder seemed to spasm at the magic's touch. The Senshi halted in midair, her own flight spell reasserting itself.

Ranma cut off her thrust, but inertia and gravity had a firm grip. She landed hard on the mat, shoulder first, tried to roll with it. Before the redhead could recover, Michiru landed hard on her, Ocean Choir across Ranma's throat – no pressure, simply in place. For a brief instant, surprise dominated Ranma's features, then she smiled. "Didn't think you could do that blast instantly. Nicely done."

"I've had good teachers." Oh, it felt good to win a round against the martial artist. Even better, to know her spellwork was still improving.

From the sidelines, Akane said, "Haruka, I think your girlfriend is about to do something unseemly with my fiance."

Michiru glanced up as Ranma blushed and Haruka replied. "Looks like it. Should we stop her or join her?"

Akane had mellowed a fair bit over the last two years, especially when it came to judging others. It was perhaps inevitable given her prolonged association with the Senshi; that or her snapping completely. Her tone was light, but her expression was somewhat blank – better than her 'DIE PERVERT' face (which, to be fair, they hadn't seen in a while) or the 'GET AWAY FROM MY RANMA' face (which they hadn't seen in longer – neither herself nor Haruka had that sort of interest in the aquatransexual and Akane and the other fiancees had decided to accept that). And to be totally fair, though she'd mostly just wanted to pin Ranma and win the match, she _had _wound up straddling the redhead. The dark haired martial artist sighed theatrically. "You're terrible, Haruka. And a bad influence."

"Absolutely."

Michiru stood, offered Ranma a hand up. The redhead was still blushing slightly – she was far too easy to tease, when you got down to it. Ranma didn't have issues, the aquatransexual had entire _subscriptions_. And pushing some of those buttons was far, far too amusing, which was a large part of the reason she and Ami both tried to trigger the martial artist's curse every chance they could find an excuse. "Sorry, Akane. Coincident of the fight."

Akane gave Ranma a look, then shrugged. "Fair enough. And it probably _was _the best way to pin Ranma at the time."

"Didn't think you could zap me that quick, too quick for me ta get a proper hold. You've been practicing," said Ranma as she turned ki into heat around a glass of water. "Won't work next time."

"Then I'll just have to come up with something else." If nothing else, she could improve the burst enough to break Ranma's hold even if he'd already secured it, which would likely make the burst enough to get her clear of most anything that grabbed her. A pause, and she glanced around the dojo. Setsuna was as inscrutable as ever, and Usagi was starting to fidget, as if realizing that it would be her turn shortly. Hotaru had begged off, as had Chibi-Usa, while the rest of the Senshi were out of town. The martial artists hadn't put up much better a showing, with only Akane and Ranma there. While Ryoga was no longer entirely unwelcome (that particular revelation a few months ago was still a vivid memory, if only for the realized betrayal snapping Akane's temper in so impressive a fashion – the most impressive snap she'd had since that business in Tibet) he was, according to Ranma, still reconciling with his paramour, while the others had business to deal with. It was almost a shame, really. Michiru quite enjoyed these sessions, and it was likely their last chance for one for the next month or so.

"Who is up next?" asked Setsuna, giving Usagi a look that made the Moon Princess gulp. She wasn't fond of fighting, but she came to these practices for the camaraderie. Nights with a poor turnout were doubly disappointing for her – not only did she not get as much 'hanging out with friends' as she wanted, she was much more likely to get called up to the mat for practice spars. She'd been marked by her use of the Silver Crystal at the end of the Battle of Tokyo – there was much more of the Princess in her appearance now than the teen; hair the colour of moonlight and the crescent moon mark of the Moon Kingdom on her forehead at all times. Most of the time, she used her magic to disguise herself; make herself look like just another young woman. Only among friends and family did she relax. Even after two years, having friends, allies, and backup was still an occasionally novel feeling. It was a nice one, one that let them relax a little. It made getting through life much easier. Even without the aquatransexual's aid in the Battle of Tokyo, the mere fact that Usagi felt she _could _relax around Ranma would have granted him the Senshi's thanks.

She was rescued by the sound of an alarm. There was a moment of confused silence in the Dojo, then Ranma, now back to his male self, said, "Uh, one minute, ladies. That's my TSAB comm." He sprinted out of the Dojo towards his office. The gathered women shot looks around the room, and by unspoken agreement, followed.

The office door was closed, but not soundproofed. They could hear Ranma's side of the conversation perfectly well. "Good evening, Admiral... Yes, I _do_ remember saying that... Really?.. No, no problem, I just didn't really expect ya ta take me up on it... Guess that's fair enough, Admiral... Yeah, I can get that info down ta t' embassy... That soon?.. Nah, not a problem, just gotta throw a plan together... Sure I can... Who you got in mind?.. His bunch? Yeah, I remember them. Be happy ta work with 'em... Of course, Sir. Good day, Admiral." They heard him power down the comm unit, and the door opened. He shot them a resigned look. "Suppose it was too much ta hope for ya ta let me talk t' my bosses in peace."

"If the Bureau had another mission for you," began Setsuna evenly, "It would be in our best interests to know. In case we need to come along and help, or cover for your absence."

Ranma sighed. "Fair enough. Nothin' too major, they ain't tryin' ta haul me off somewhere again. After t' battle of Seyruun, I told 'em if they wanted me ta train any of their people, ta get in line a' the Dojo like everyone else. They're takin' me up on that."

Akane grinned at the back of the pack. "That should be interesting."

Ranma nodded. "Yeah. I know the guys who're comin.' They're a good bunch, figure I can teach 'em." A pause, and he nodded to the Senshi. "Though I'll need a hand coverin' magic stuff. I can fake it, but that won't be what they need."

"Wait, they want training in Beautiful Shining Magic Strike Arts, not Anything Goes?" asked Usagi.

Ranma shot her a look. "We. Aren't. Calling. It. That." A pause. "Yeah. Chrono's report last time 'round mentioned Sergeant Aston getting' beat by Makoto, an' they want some o' that more than they do straight martial arts. Admiral Villar was specific." Another pause, as he waited for the Senshi's wave of self-congratulating grins to fade. "Anyway. Anyone wanna make some cash helpin' teach?" Though he addressed the group, he was looking at Haruka when he said it.

"Don't look at me," she replied. "All of the Outers are heading to the States next week."

Ranma blinked. "Right, you mentioned that, didn't ya? Some kind of conference?"

Setsuna nodded. "Yes. I'll be talking to a number of space agencies about ways that magic can be used to aid space exploration. At least a few of them are willing to think outside their little scientific box about the future." Her mouth quirked into a half-smile. "And then they'll stop trying to re-classify Pluto as a non-planet."

Haruka grinned impishly. "And we're going to enjoy Florida's beaches. And scandalize Americans." Michiru felt herself blush a bit at that, though she could hardly deny it.

Ranma quirked a smile and turned to Usagi. "Guess that leaves you, then. You up for it?"

The Moon Princess thought for a moment, then sighed. "I guess so. But... are you sure? I'm not as good as the others..."

Ranma shrugged. "You'll do fine. I just need someone who can demonstrate t' magic stuff. Aston's squad ain't slouches, they'll pick it up." A pause. "Anyway, this fits square in the category of 'stuff that doesn't wait for the weekly report,' so I got some calls to make. An' my bosses in t' JSDF got _no_ sense a' humor about this kinda thing, so if I could get some privacy?"

* * *

Ranma waited until his sense of the Senshi faded – they'd headed back to the Dojo proper – and sank into his chair with a sigh. Of course they'd want to drop in now for this. He was only struggling to find a compromise he could live with for the biggest issue of his personal honor. The last thing he needed right now was distractions.

And being stuck with Usagi to help with the magic end of things... guh. It wasn't that he didn't like her, she was a friend, like the rest of the Senshi. But she didn't have the motivation you needed to be a great martial artist, and it held her back on the magic side of things, too. She skated along thanks to a ridiculous amount of raw power and as little effort as she could get away with. He'd much prefer to have Makoto, Haruka or Rei around to help actually teach Maho Shojo Ryu. Even Ami, who wasn't quite as adept as the others, had a knack for explaining stuff that ought to translate well into teaching. And that was if he had chosen to teach the style at all... in his opinion, it needed a fair bit more development and refinement before it was really ready for that sort of thing.

But, well, he'd shot his mouth off back then, and on heavy painkillers at the time or not, he'd stick to what he'd said. And he'd live with having to work with Usagi. Even if she carried around so much raw magic power that it actively hurt to spend any length of time near her, far moreso than the other Senshi. Ranma rubbed absently at his sore shoulder – ill luck had landed Michiru's magic strike directly on one of his scars, and it throbbed as bad as when it had been fresh.

Bah. He was letting himself be distracted. Lieutenant Ito would be gone home by now, but he could leave a message. And in the morning, he'd comm Aston personally and see what else he could dig up, info-wise, and then report in person. That'd cover things. Then he'd have to figure out where he could fit another special class into the Dojo's schedule. And what, exactly, he'd teach them.

He'd brainstorm later. For now, call, then back to the Dojo. The rest would wait.


	3. Chapter Two

_Disclaimer: I make no claim to these characters; this story exists purely for tribute and entertainment, please don't sue._

_Author's Note: UPDATE: My life keeps getting more complicated and stressful, and my muse has up and quit on me. Until further notice, this story is on hiatus, as I am not presently capable of writing._

Chapter Two

Faint wisps of steam rose from the jungle waters as a cloudless night fell, the light of distant stars painting the ground in shadows. Set back into the jungle, deep enough that the plantlife shielded it from the noise and notice of a nearby town, a brightly lit manor stood in the middle of a walled compound. The almost elegant house stood at odds with the other buildings within the compound, a combination of rude timber shacks and rusting Quonset huts, surrounded by a wall built of cinderblocks and topped by jagged glass. At the back, barely visible from outside, sat a small asphalt helipad, on which crouched a sleek Comanche attack helicopter.

Sergi Povarol walked his perimeter route in a rolling slouch, assault rifle hanging loosely on its strap. He wasn't watching the jungle, or the manor(from which the sounds of a lively party rose as his employer entertained his guests) or even the wall. He was barely looking past the glowing tip of his American cigarette as he walked. This was pointless. There was no goddam _reason_ to have them on patrol out here, not this deep in the jungle. At least Vladmir's squad got to do it's patrol inside the compound, where they could look into the manor and see the strippers and other festivities laid on for their bosses' terrorist guests.

Feh. A bunch of hypocrites, the lot of them. They were all supposedly staunchly religious, making their attacks to protest 'the erosion of society' created by 'rock and roll, lewd women, drugs, alcohol, and magic users.' So when they wanted to party, they just _loved_ it when you broke out the hookers and blow. Was this what his band of ex-Red Army boys were reduced to serving? Hell, they should be running this place, just like rumor said that bitch Balalaika was doing on some Thai island, not serving as muscle for a mad chemist in a goddam banana republic. He took a drag on his cigarette, staring for a moment at the glowing cherry. It was enough to-

He never completed the thought. It was driven from his mind by a .380 ACP round straight through his forehead.

Grinning faintly, Agent James Bond of Her Majesty's Secret Service emerged from the shadows, tucking his still-smoking Walther PPK into his shoulder holster. A craggy face framed by black hair split with a grin as he looked at the guard's cigarette. "Those things will kill you, you know," he said with a slight Scottish accent. The smile did not touch his ice-blue eyes. Pausing to brush a bit of leaf matter off the shoulder of his somehow immaculate tuxedo, Bond grabbed a handful of dead mercenary shirt and hauled the body into the bush. If the rest of them were this sloppy, this would be a breeze.

* * *

The guard's uniform had done nicely to protect his hands and outfit from the unpleasantness embedded in the top of the wall. James Bond slipped carefully through the compound, noting the position of the sentries and marking their routes. He'd had to kill another of them, but the expatriate Russian hadn't bled on his tux, so it had been a simple matter of shoving the body beneath one of the outbuildings, up on blocks. The jungle would likely deal with him before he was found.

Bond smirked. Especially given what he planned to do to the place.

The various wooden buildings contained little; primarily sleeping quarters for guards and technicians. Those still inside the buildings were either drinking or sleeping, which simplified things nicely. It was the Quonsets that held the _interesting_ things. Various vehicles well suited to the jungle terrain, weapons, fuel and munitions for the Comanche. One held a vast plethora of assorted tubes and containers, all marked with biohazard, flammable, or explosive warning labels. Several of the containers were obviously meant to hook into various weapons, or were bombs in and of themselves. Just the thing for religious fanatics and terrorists.

But the true prize wasn't hidden there. The largest of the Quonsets held nothing but a concrete bunker. Bond quickly disposed of the guards, then opened the heavy, armored steel door with one of their keys. Amber-lit stairs descended into the ground. Wearing a smile like a razor of ice, Bond descended into the earth.

* * *

Duncan Howard sipped at his Tequila and leered at a dancing girl.

The big Texan headed a hard-right militia, one with the perhaps grandiose goal of saving America from itself. The damn liberal media smeared God's Plan for the world, and the handful of still sane, right thinking white politicians that were the country's only hope to save itself from the uppity foreigners and coloured folk who wanted it destroyed, and bring it back to the path that God intended. Destroyed or worse, Communized – turned into a vile, Red shadow of its true self. But those liberal pricks had a problem: they were too limp wristed and weak of will to use weapons other than words. He and his boys figured the time was coming to, as Jefferson once said, water the tree of liberty with the blood of a few tyrants. That'd frighten the bastards back to their holes.

The time to act had to come soon; even mostly right-thinking, honest Republicans were being far too tolerant of the changes coming to their nation. Too complacent to act to save themselves. Thus it fell to people like himself and his followers to save them all. Let the media call he and his libertarian extremists or militia nuts, or even terrorists, it didn't matter. They knew what they were: hard men making hard choices. They'd win, in the end, and in winning, write the histories. They'd be remembered as the patriotic heroes they were.

Howard didn't think too much of spics in general, but this chemist came highly recommended, and he surely did have some _interesting_ toys for sale. Toys that he figured would come in right useful in the struggle to come. Foreign toys, true, but Howard had enough appreciation for irony to consider using foreign weapons to remove foreign tampering from his beloved nature just and true. Later, he'd be bidding against the other American militia leaders here -he wished them no ill, for they fought more or less for the same thing he did, but _he_ would be the history maker, not them - as well as the one Paddy.

For now, however, he was going to enjoy the party. And Diego threw one _hell_ of a party. He gave their florid-faced host a brief nod, and was about to turn back to the leggy dancer before him when an aide rushed into the room, looking _extremely_ nervous. The spic's expression turned nasty for a moment, and he backhanded the aide, barking something in Spanish as the man ran for the door. Well. That probably wasn't good. It looked like the others hadn't noticed; too distracted by the entertainment. Howard stood, and with manful effort ignored the dancer's assets as he crossed the room. Diego made a visible effort to calm himself as he approached. "That anything we guests ought to know about?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just a guard failing to report in. Russians, you know? Probably drunk. I am angered because they disturbed me with such a trivial thing during such an important event."

"Well... all right. Glad it's nothing. Business like we're gonna be doin' requires a peaceable meetin' after all." He supposed it figured that the spic would have a touchy temper. Hell, this was probably the biggest chance to deal he'd had all year. A good Christian like himself wouldn't get this hung up over money, but Diego was just a foreign heathen. "T' entertainment's nice an' all, but ah do hope we get to business sooner than later."

"Yes, yes," said Diego, waving him off. "I have just a few details to settle."

* * *

The tank was full of some impressively nasty chemicals – exactly what kind, Bond wasn't sure, but the mixture stank terribly. Still smiling, the agent pulled what looked like a pack of cigarettes out of an inside pocket. Flipping the pack open, he pulled one butt half an inch out; until it _klik_ed; then pressed the pack against the base of the tank, right next to a relief valve. It stayed in place as though welded there. He checked his watch, pressed one of the buttons on the side.

That would make a fine surprise later, along with the cufflinks he'd attached to the fuel tank for the big diesel generator downstairs that powered the installation. For the nonce, he had some stolen property to find.

Bond stalked the corridors of the underground chemical lab, using the camera hidden in his lapel to record the facility as he continued. There was rather more here than his briefing had suggested. M didn't like him much, these days, but he doubted the old battleaxe would deliberately send him in with bad intel. It was simply likely that she had no better data to offer him. Thus, he'd keep a good record of what he found as he looked for the formulas Diego's minions had stolen from England. It wouldn't do at all for those documents to become public knowledge; England, after all, had no interest in making bio-warfare agents or other weapons of mass destruction. The _very idea_ was _scandalous_!

His grin as he thought that did not reach his eyes.

Diego's contractors were better than his guards; the facility was actually quite well constructed even if it wouldn't meet all the safety standards. Still, the poor safety standards meant fewer locked doors within, which made his job of sneaking around much easier. A bit more exploring led him to another lab, this one with a few techs monitoring equipment.

One was a nondescript, slightly balding man with pens sticking out of the front pocket of his labcoat. The other was a twentysomething brunette with her hair pulled back in a short pony tail. Even in something as unflattering as a too-big labcoat, she was _stunning,_ and Bond felt his smile turn briefly into a leer, then quickly forced it back into his 'working' face. The door opened for him with a click, and the balding scientist turned an irritated expression on him, clearly about to protest his intrusion up until the moment he saw the gun.

"Both of you, stand still, and I won't hurt you," said Bond. He kept the Walther covering the man, though he didn't let the woman out of his sight as he moved to one of the counters, this one strewn with documents. "Now, let's see what you have here."

"_That's_ what you care about?" Blurted out the balding scientist, incredulous. "Our formulas, our work?"

"Not _yours_, said Bond lightly. "England's. Ah. Here it is." His hand closed on a sheaf of documents with British Intelligence letterheads. "Just taking back Her Majesty's property."

"Oh, please," said Baldy, angrily. "As if you people would ever _use _it. Those designs are genius, and they are _wasted_ in your vaults."

"Perhaps. But that's Her Majesty's decision to make." He gave the man a dismissive look. "It's no business of yours, Doctor." Baldy flushed angrily.

"It is very much our business," said the brunette. "If nothing else, tell me, who are you, who terrorizes us in our workplace and steals our formulas."

He looked her in the eye, smiling and turning on his charm. "The name is Bond. James Bond. Now, if you'll excu-"

His words turned into a yelp of pain as a blast of pepper spray hit him in the eyes; she'd palmed the mace while his attention was diverted by her cold blue eyes. He threw a hand up as he stumbled backwards. Then a very heavy object made of glass crashed over his head, and the world went black.

* * *

The bidding for Diego's merchandise had begun, the various militia leaders each vying for the exotic weapons available to help their righteous causes. Thus far it was a friendly auction; the alcohol and women giving the whole affair a festive air. A party with WMDs as the party favours.

They were haggling for a series of concentrated VX bombs when another aide rushed in, this one somewhat frantic. He whispered something briefly to Diego, who scowled, then grinned. "Gentlemen," he said, interrupting the bidding. "We've had an uninvited guest, but one who I think you'll like to meet." He nodded briefly to Seamus Harper, and the Irishman gave him a curious look.

"It seems," Diego continued, "That British Intelligence has decided to send us a spy." Two big Russians dragged a semiconscious man into the room, each holding him by one arm. Behind them entered two scientists, both looking rather smug and self-satisfied. "While this particular agent may not have personally made himself a nuisance to most of your organizations, many of his fellows, no doubt, have. I believe a special auction might well be called for. He has to die, of course, the question is who gets the privilege."

A splash of water roused the agent. "Well, my friend, why don't you give us your name?"

The agent ignored him for a moment, ice blue eyes taking in the room and the men within. Then his gaze settled back on Diego, and he said, "My name is Bond. James Bond."

The brunette scientist produced a sheaf of papers; handed them to Diego. "He was here to steal back these."

"Typical English. Trying to clean up your dirty laundry after the fact."

Harper was giving Bond an intense look. "Tha' s_asanach_is _mine._ I owe him, personal."

"Now now, the IRA might have particular interests here, but you'll still have to win the bidding."

The bidding didn't take long, with the various Americans putting up only token opposition to their vengeful Irish counterpart. Throughout the process, Bond's expression and stance stayed calm, almost amused, by the situation. It was as if he didn't care a whit about any of them, or his current predicament.

As he won the auction, Seamus stood, producing a knife as he advanced on Bond. "Ye don' mind if I take care o' things right now, do ye?" He seemed too angry to keep hiding his accent.

"If you must, but please, take him outside first. I do so hate having to clean blood out of these carpets."

"Then I can take my time. Save some of the VX for me." Seamus nodded to one of the Russians manhandling Bond. "Let's go."

* * *

Outside, Seamus quickly spun, backhanding Bond. "Oh, I've waited _years_ fahr this, James Bond of MI6. Red Grant was a friend o' mine, ye _sasanach_, an' ahl' take great pleasure in yer death."

Sounding quite amused, the agent replied, "I should hope so. The IRA sent you here to buy weapons, not settle old grudges. You'd best take your time; make the most of it. Your compatriots will probably be unhappy with you spending their money on frivolities."

The irishman produced a knife. "Ye le' _me_ worry on tha,' _sasanach_ dog." They both heard the door open and close again, and the IRA man glanced towards the manor, snarling, "What do you want, woman? I have _business_ tae attend to."

"Don't stop on my account," she said walking into Bond's view. "I want to see this man _suffer_ myself. He thought me harmless because I'm 'just' a woman, and he would rather see genius moulder in a vault than be used." She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, glared at him. "Oh yes. His sort is something the world needs less of."

The irishman gave her an odd look, then shrugged, turning his attention back to Bond. "Wael then. I'll give ye a good show."

"The lady deserves a good show," agreed Bond jovially. "Though I must say, miss, that you do yourself a disservice working in a place like this. Your finest assets are ignored here." She flushed darkly, scowling at him.

Knife glittering in the starlight, Harper advanced on Bond. "I think ahl start w' tha' smug smile o' yours."

Bond seemed to be tapping one foot in impatience. When Harper entered his reach, the foot swung back – there was a sound like something charging, and a faint _thnk_ – and his foot lashed out, catching the irishman's leg. There was a sharp, electric sound, and the man convulsed, dropping like he'd been crowned with an axe handle. As Bond twisted out of the Russian's grasp, he lashed out again, the TASER needles jutting from the toes of his shoe making contact with one of them in a more sensitive region, and the big Russian dropped with a high alto yelp.

The scientist whipped out her mace again, but the agent got a hand up, blocking the spray, took it away from her as he grabbed her. He nailed the second Russian in the face with it, then dropped the big man with a knife-hand to the throat. He smiled as he pocketed the mace, and the TASER needles retracted with another faint _thnk_. "That went well. Now, what shall I do with you, miss?"

"Take your hands _off_ of me!" she hissed, trying to slap him.

"Temper, temper, young lady," he said, then hauled them both into the nearest Quonset. "Now." he began, spinning her to face him. "You want quit of me? Then help me accomplish my goal. I need those papers. There must be another way into that manor than the one I ran out from."

The scientist spat in his face. "I will not tell a sexist pig like you anything!"

She'd braced herself for the back of his hand, but it didn't help her keep her feet. "Well then," he said, hauling her back up. "We'll just have to do this the hard way."

* * *

The bidding was running fierce, this time for one of the classics. Almost a century since the first world war, and Mustard Gas was still a notably unpleasant way to die. And even those it didn't kill, it left... reminders... with. That Diego had devised some devilishly ingenious delivery methods for it helped.

When the outside door opened, Duncan Howard glanced over, expecting to see a very satisfied looking Paddy. It was almost impressive, how well Harper had hidden his accent until his blood got up. There was some history between him and this James Bond, and Howard was curious to find out what that history was. He'd have to ask. That train of thought derailed quickly as he saw that it wasn't Harper coming through the door.

James Bond entered, the scientist lady held before him, a blade at her throat. "I hate to be a bother, Diego, but I really do need those papers. Hand them over, and you get your scientist back in one piece."

Howard was on his feet, as were most of the others. "What did you do with Harper, spook?" he asked, growling.

Bond smiled, seeming almost bored. "He's having a little nap, nothing more." He shifted his grip on the blade, and the scientist wimpered. "I'm sure upstanding gentlemen like yourselves have no desire to see this young lady in distress. Diego. Hand them over."

Most of the militia leaders were on their feet. Most had filled their hands. A man Howard didn't know, an older man from Virginia, said, "A woman has no place in the realm of science. She's no lady, and I don't care what happens to uppity sluts who don't know their God-given place." He leveled his revolver – a lovingly maintained Colt Peacemaker - as several of the men in the room made agreeing noises.

Diego stepped back with a smirk. "No, Mister Bond, I won't do as you say. Doctor Lane is hardly irreplaceable, and these documents are clearly more valuable than I'd expected." His subordinate loosed an indignant squeak. "No, England will get them back. It's just going to cost them a great deal of money."

"Well then," said Bond, sounding remarkably calm. "I suppose I should have expected something like this. You really are _wasted_ on men like this, my dear." He glanced back to Diego. "If that's the case, then there's really no more point in my staying here." A glance around. "Does anyone have the time?" The non-sequitor froze everyone for a moment in confusion. "No? Ah well." The hand Bond was using to hold Dr. Lane's arm behind her snaked out to the watch on the wrist of his knife hand, pressed two buttons.

There was a sudden, loud noise, and the manor went black. As panicked gunfire began to ring out, there was another, _much_ louder noise – this one definitely an explosion – that coupled with the entire house shaking, toppling militiamen and decorations. In the dark, a woman screamed.

Guns kept going off as the various armed men inside fired at shadows. Howard stuck as low to the floor as he could, trying to avoid it. After so many hours in the light, his night vision was slow to kick in, and it wasn't helped by the strobes of brilliance provided by assorted muzzle flashes. He low-crawled towards a source of Spanish profanity – Diego. Who wasn't going to enjoy his attention when he got there. The damned spic had screwed the whole thing up by toying with that Brit. Once that was dealt with, it'd be time to get out of here. Explosions in large chemical labs were generally very bad things.

The Spanish profanity cut off abruptly. Squinting through the gloom, he could make out movement in the right general direction – deeper into the manor, through a doorway at the back of the big parlor they'd been conducting the auction in. He couldn't see that clearly – another muzzle flash tore at his night vision, and smoke was starting to rise from below – but it seemed two people, one going through the other's pockets. Howard pulled his Desert Eagle. The searcher had to be Bond, and from the silence, he'd already dealt with Diego. Well. He wasn't about to let the fed get away. General principle.

He needed both hands to steady the hand cannon, which was odd. He was a big man, one who could handle the mighty weapon's recoil one handed, usually. But he couldn't make it hold steady, not right now. His vision blurred as the searcher seemed to find what he'd been looking for and started off in a low crawl. The D.E. bucked in his hands as he tried to make the shot, flew out of a slack grip.

Throat burning, Howard let the blackness claim him.

* * *

Clarisa Lane staggered as she was towed along behind James Bond, mind reeling. Bad enough that their clients were every bit as bad as this sexist pig, but her own patron turning on her? That, combined with the lump on her head where she'd hit the floor, was making it hard to concentrate.

Bond had pressed something fabric to her mouth, something that stopped the assorted noxious fumes that were wafting up as her lab – _her lab! _- burned beneath the ground. It did the job better than the full hazmat mask she used when working with particularly unpleasant chemicals, which was quite the trick. She held her breath for a moment as she looked at it. It was a tie. A bow-tie that made a better breath mask than the very expensive ones they had in the lab. How the hell?

Adrenaline started to clear her head, and she looked around. They were outside, moving quickly and efficiently across the compound, darting from shadow to shadow. Bond held her with one hand, had Diego's pistol in the other. Poking from a pants pocket, she could see folded up documents; presumably the ones he'd come to take back, to be locked in a vault to moulder away. His eyes were shaded by what looked like a pair of reading glasses with LEDs at the hinges and bridge. He wore a scowl as he looked around, which seemed almost out of place on the thus-far unflappable agent's face.

Following his lead, she looked around. Part of the outer wall had collapsed where an explosion – the diesel tanks, from the position of it it – had caused the ground to cave in. Two of the Quonsets that connected into the labs were burning, and several of the living quarters had lit up from debris or spreading flames. His grip on her hand was iron, and suddenly, she jerked into motion as Bond took off once more. "Where are you going? The gate isn't this way!" She knew the place that well. "And why are you taking me along, you pig?"

"There are other ways out of here, my dear Doctor. And as to why, well, those men were proving quite unseemly in their intentions. I thought it best to get you away from them. And besides, you're unemployed. England is always interested in experts of your caliber."

"Mister Bond, are you attempting to _recruit_ me while the compound burns down around us?"

"I can't think of a better time. As I said, you are _wasted _on men such as those. They don't appreciate your mind. England will. And we're not sticking about for the fire." They rounded another building and raced for the helipad. Two guards were there, looking around furtively. Bond shot them both without breaking stride, then helped her into the helicopter, as if he were _actually_ a gentleman, and not a thug.

A Comanche helicopter could easily make the flight from Diego's compound to the rendezvous point in two hours, but for some unknown reason, Bond and Dr. Lane did not arrive until almost noon the following day.

0o0

Toshiro Ito had received Ranma's message about an impending Bureau visit and, as per standing orders, immediately kicked it up the chain. From there, it went straight to Intelligence. Relations between Earth and the TSAB were cordial, but not terribly open, and while Earth's quickly-rebuilding space programs worked with their navy to an extent, on the main, very little was actually _known_ about the Bureau's military. The chance to study some of their troops up close, learn how they operated and, if possible, some of their training and indoctrination, was invaluable.

Earth's governments abhorred being in an information vacuum, and it was just that situation they were in when it came to the Bureau. They knew that the TSAB considered Earth to be of relatively small importance, and thus consulted them only a very little when it came to decisions that might affect them. While Earth had no illusions about their chances against the Dimensional Republic of Bradeson alone, and did not object too strenuously to the Bureau making peace with that power, the lack of any reparations, or even the consideration for a seat at the negotiating table, rankled.

The Public Security Intelligence Agency was eager to learn more about these still-strange people. Japanese pride warred with practicality and the value of their standing agreements with other agencies – both written and 'understood' agreements – for most of a day before the agreements won out. The CIA, Mossad, and MI6 all understood the place of quid pro quo, and what they might lose in valuable information now, they'd likely make up later.

OoO

Agents Roth and Lieber didn't look terribly Jewish.

Of course, that was almost to be expected, when one learned of their history. Both were descended from that vast and vague branch of Jewry known as _marannos_, their ancestors forced out of Iberia and traveling the waters around Europe hiding their ancestry. At the time, in the dark days of the 1600s, it was a deadly serious necessity, for the Spanish and Papal Inquisitions were very serious in their plans to ferret out every Protestant, Jew or Muslim they could find and presenting them with the same ultimatum: convert or die.

Both had ancestors who had hidden in plain sight, posing as 'Portuguese' sailors on merchantmen. Sailing for the Dutch East India company, they plied the waves in what would become Southeast Asia. It was, by all accounts(both historical and the tales passed down by their families) a hard life, but one with great rewards for those with the skill and luck to make the most of it.

Luck had turned against their ancestors, a storm, anywhere from a week in length to an entire month depending on which family history you read, blew a trade flotilla across the East Indies and into the Sea of Japan, and then to shipwreck on the island nation's shore. They had not received a terribly friendly welcome, but they had endured, and over the generations integrated to some extent.

When Israel was founded, some of the descendants of those ancient _marannos _immigrated_. _They held closer to their heritage, identifying as Jews as much as Japanese, and Japan's neutrality – in some cases outright complicity – with the Third Reich's plans to exterminate Jewry from the world had offended them.

Katsushiro Roth and Omiko Lieber had grown up in Jerusalem, in households where both Hebrew and Japanese were spoken. The two had been drawn to defend their homeland, surrounded by enemies and constantly hounded. Their skills had brought them to Mossad. Their ancestry had brought them here, back to the land of their grandfathers, where their appearance made them all but anonymous.

Posing as a married couple from Okinawa, Katsushiro and Omiko had quickly and efficiently turned their apartment into a fine spy's nest. The Americans and Brits might prefer to get up close and personal in their observation of these alien soldiers come to Earth to train. The Jews would watch patiently, observe everything, and likely see more. Omiko had infiltrated the Saotome Dojo earlier that day, attending a 'drop in' class and leaving a few bugs behind. Katsushiro had tapped both the phone and internet lines. Their apartment had a good position to observe the Dojo and those who came and went, and they'd already learned the hotel where the Bureau marines would be staying. It had been given similar preparations.

Now all they had to do was wait and watch.

OoO

"You're joking," said Ranma, "Right?"

Lieutenant Ito quirked a brief smile. "We're on base, Saotome. That's 'You're joking, sir.' And I'm not."

Ranma sighed, mumbled something unintelligible and probably obscene under his breath. Then, "Okay, thinking about it, I understand _why_ intel needed ta know. An' I get that they told some _gaijin_. 'S what treaties are for. But... addin' some spies to my class?"

"Well, outside of your best students, all of your classes have been open and group affairs. You can explain their presence that way. And not all of the agents in question will be trying to get an 'inside look.' The PSIA will be monitoring things, as will at least a few others."

"It's not just... okay, you know the Bureau's sending some solid guys, right? I _know_ you read the report I threw together on Aston's squad. If these guys are gonna be in the same class, they gotta be good enough that it looks like they _should_ be there. An' that ain't easy for pure martial arts." A pause. "An' fer that matter, what are they gonna look like? Aston's not stupid, he'll know something's up if a bunch of _gaijin_ just happen to be in the class along with his people."

"I'm sure our allies are aware of that, Ranma. Just get ready for a bigger class, and let us worry about the rest. Oh, before I forget, one other point. You're aware that Japan has some discrete ties with the Magical World."

"Of course. I hire the Mahora Construction Club whenever someone trashes the Dojo. They do good work."

"Well. Japan's connection to that state is considered highly secret, and not to be shared. Likewise, the existence of that state."

Ranma sighed. "So no calling in the Construction Club if the place gets trashed, or heading to one of their restaurants or otherwise calling attention to 'em?"

"Exactly. It just needs a subtle touch, and I know you can do that, however much you might protest otherwise."

Another mutter, and then; "I understand, Lieutenant. Thanks for the heads-up, I guess. I'll keep you in the loop if anything comes up."

"Thank you, Saotome. Dismissed."

OoO

Michael Jones, CIA, tried to remember if he'd _ever_, in his decade with The Company, been called into the Director's office. He was coming up blank. The fact that he was getting called in now was... unnerving. As he waited to be waved in by the Director's secretary, he mentally ran over his last few cases, the Imperial Fuckton of reports generated by the same, and the week and a half he'd been in the office since getting back from his last field assignment. Nothing stuck out as unusual or worthy of the Director's wrath... but generally, the Director didn't bring people to his office for coffee and cakes.

He tried not to run his hands through his hair or make other signs of nervousness. He tried to calm down. He tried to distract himself from probable impending doom. He succeeded at the first, at least.

In a voice so bland he almost didn't hear it over the air conditioning, the secretary said, "The Director will see you now, Agent Jones."

Michael nodded his thanks, straightened his tie, and walked in.

The Director didn't even look up from the report he was reading. "Agent Michael Jones?"

"Yes, mister Director, reporting as ordered."

"Good. How's your Japanese, Agent Jones?"

_My what?_ "Ah, it's... passable sir. A bit rusty, but I can get by in it."

"Good enough. And if I recall from your file, you used to practice Ju Jutsu?"

"I still do, sir, though not as intensely as I did in my younger days." _What in southeast hell is he going on about?_

"Good, good. Well, Agent Jones, that dedication is about to pay off for you. We've got a very _special_ field assignment coming up, and you're on the shortlist of agents qualified for it."

Mental alarm bells started to ring. Michael tried very hard not to gulp. "I see, sir." That seemed neutral and safe.

"You will. We've received word from our contacts in the PSIA that our offworld allies are going to be putting some troops through an Earthside training program. Due to the nature of that training program, there is an opportunity here for some close observation of their troops. Bluntly, we don't know enough about them, and we need to fix that."

Michael nodded slowly. "Am I correct in understanding that you want me to be this... observer?" The mental alarms were ringing even louder. Offhand, he could think of half a dozen agents better suited to covert observation duties, especially – since the involvement of the PSIA and the Director's earlier question suggested this was going down in Japan – given the fact that Michael Jones was a 6'4", blond haired, blue eyed nephew of Uncle Sam and thus would stand out a tad.

"A close observer. Specifically, you'll be enrolling in the same combat class they'll be in."

"I – what, sir?" At the Director's raised eyebrow he did gulp, then rallied himself. "Sir, I'm not a mage, and I'm not one of them. How am I going to get into one of their training classes?"

"The trainer is one Ranma Saotome. A fiercely independent operator who has close ties with both the TSAB and the JSDF. Your enrollment has been guaranteed by our Japanese allies." A pause. "And in part, you'll be evaluating Saotome. If he's half as good as the news made him out to be two years ago, he might be an asset worth courting."

"I... see." Ranma Saotome? He'd heard of the man, of course, but had dismissed most of the claims about what he could do as nonsense. "Ah, one final question, sir." The Director's tone told him he'd be 'volunteering' for this mission weather he wanted to or not. "I suspect I'd look very out of place in Japan. Ah, won't the Bureau personnel notice?"

"If their soldiers are as unobservant and ignorant as their superiors seem to be, no. This is a test, Agent Jones. We need to learn about these people." Michael nodded. Oh, he didn't like the idea of being a test subject, but he'd live with it. He certainly understood the reasoning. The Director continued. "Best of luck, Agent Jones, and be on the lookout for anything that stands out of the ordinary, there's something Japan isn't telling us about this situation. Your flight leaves in seven hours. Dismissed."

OoO

"That's really unfair to you. And you _have_ to take them on, even if they're awful?"

"Yeah. I mean, I get why they wanna look, ya know? But the whole thing is just nuts. Oh, an' I can't call in the _good_ contractors if somebody breaks the place." Ranma might not be terribly keen on the situation, but he'd learned a thing or two about 'top secret' and 'discretion' over the last few years. Ukyo was in the loop on the Magical World, but her customers wouldn't be. And Uuchan's was hopping right now. His last class of the evening had let out half an hour ago, and a goodly chunk of it was here, along with some regulars and a bunch of foot traffic – Ukyo had picked her site well when she relocated the restaurant.

Ukyo also knew a thing or two about secrets that needed keeping. "And knowing your luck, the odds of the place _not_ getting broken aren't even worth mentioning."

"Yeah. Who'd you get to renovate this place, anyway?"

Before she could respond, a wave of new customers walked through the door. Ranma gave a fractional nod, and she smiled as she called a greeting from behind the grill. The martial artist gave a glance around, trying to figure out what he was going to do. This newest task had put his personal problems out of his mind for most of the day, but now that classes were out his mind wandered back to them. It tended to. Part of the reason he'd left Nerima in the first place was to get a little distance to work on the problem, but a 'perfect' solution eluded him.

A less than perfect one – one that he could 'live with' – was something he'd never have considered even six months ago. But there wasn't, that he could see, any other way out. And continuing to drag it out would just end with everything coming down in flames. The idea of settling for something less than a clean win rankled him, but he could see the logic – better that than losing everything. Perhaps his experiences were helping him mature. Or perhaps his father was right when he insisted that association with the JSDF was ruining his warrior spirit.

He scowled at that thought. He didn't like that idea at all, but he'd learned the hard way that it would be worth giving that at least _some_ thought, however little he liked it. To ignore something just because it was unpleasant was to invite stupid mistakes.

Ukyo was back at the section of grill he was sitting at. "Looks like this is gonna be a good night for your place."

She smiled. "Business has been good lately. Have you given any thought to your lessons for these guys?"

Ranma snorted. "Of course. Should be interesting, I fought beside 'em in Seyruun, so I know mosta what they can do." A smirk. "An' I'll send 'em your way, too. I bet they'll like your cooking."

"I'll try not to disappoint. So. What can these guys do? I think I'll want to take them on at some point." The ninja-trained chef grinned

Ranma matched it. "Mosta the tricks that work with the Senshi oughta work on 'em, but their style's straight Mid-Childa, so it's a bit different..."

OoO

The spymistress of MI6, known to her staff only as M, fixed the longest-standing thorn in her side with a glare. Agent James Bond, 007, reacted to it as he always did, grinning like the bastard he was. "Bond, when you are ordered to exfiltrate with all speed, wasting a day in the process is _not_ acceptable just because 'you got out of the compound first.'"

"I'm sorry, M, I didn't intend to cause you any troubles. I was merely... debriefing Dr. Lane."

"Debriefing." M's voice was very dry.

There was a twinkle in his eyes. "Yes, ma'am."

"Well. I hope you're... well rested after that debriefing, because we have another assignment that calls for your skills."

"Oh?" He sounded curious to her ear, "So soon?"

"I'm sure you'll survive without time off, 007. In fact, it'll almost be a vacation."

"Well then, what shall I be doing, and where?"

"We have a time-sensitive need for an agent on the ground in Tokyo, one who has significant martial arts skills and is fluent in Japanese. You're the only agent readily available who fits the criteria."

Bond looked genuinely curious now. "Tokyo? Well, that does sound interesting."

"The Time-Space Administration Bureau is using someone in Tokyo as a trainer. I want you to both evaluate the training, and the Bureau soldiers. We don't know enough about them."

"Beyond the fact that they rather like recruiting from this world, and they have excellent taste in television, what _do_ we know about them?"

"Precisely. You'll be in the same training class as those soldiers, and at least a few other agents. I'd consider it a favour if you didn't blow their covers."

"That does sound rather interesting. Who'se the trainer?"

"Ranma Saotome, and yes, we _have_ confirmed the rumors regarding his curse, it's not just an urban legend." A pause. "I do hope you can contain your appetites, 007, he is reputed to have _no_ sense of humor at all about being propositioned."

"I'll manage," he said with a smirk. "When does my flight leave?"

OoO

Ranma whistled a happy tune as he walked back to the Dojo. Chatting tactics and training with Ukyo and Konatsu – who hadn't contributed _much_, but all of it quality – combined with a full stomach had him in a much better mood than he'd been in before. He'd deal with this, and once this distraction was out of the way, he'd deal with the fiancee issue. Kamis, he might even run the problem past Aston for a little perspective – the Marine was a good guy, and might have some ideas Ranma himself hadn't.

The mood stalled out when he spotted a _gaijin_ looking intently at the Dojo.

The man looked to be in his 30s, but he seemed fit and wiry, carrying himself with a quiet confidence and observing everything around him. The stranger noticed Ranma's attention, and gave him a brief wave.

The Martial Artist walked up. "Subtle."

"Why, thank you, Saotome," said the man, grinning and extending a hand.

Ranma shook it. "So, am I guessing right that you're here for some... classes?"

"Oui, I am. I know it is too late today, but I thought I would see, how you say, the lay of the land."

A little concentration let Ranma hear the man's words behind the translation, and he placed the language – mostly English – and accent. He also noticed the odd looks some of the other passers-by were giving the man. "So. What's a, I'm guessing, Frenchman, doing in Tokyo, looking for martial arts classes?"

"Oh, I 'av my reasons," said the man, grinning, a twinkle in his brown eyes. "An' I am not French. Quebecois."

_ Heck with it. I really don't feel like playing games here. _"Canadian?" He briefly wracked his brain. "So, CSIS, right?"

"Oui. I see you 'ave been briefed. Marceau LaFleur." He turned back to the Dojo. "An impressive Dojo, mon ami."

For a moment Ranma considered contesting the spy's use of the word 'friend,' but thought better of it. He _did_ have to deal with this joker, and his compatriots, after all. And the way he said it, it sounded like it was just kinda the way he talked. "I'm happy enough with it." A pause. "You do realize, the Bureau people are going to spot you out instantly, right?"

Marceau chuckled. "Oui. But I am just a desk jockey who 'appened to be in the right place in the right time. I raised that very point wi' my superiors, but they ignored me." He shrugged. "If nothing else, it should be interesting. You have a high reputation in some circles."

Ranma gave the agent a look-over. "You look like a decent fighter. From your stance, I'm guessing _savate_, an' a little bit o' somthin' else. Some kind of armed style?"

Marceau blinked at him, then half-smiled and chuckled. "You live up to your reputation. Oui, primarily _savate, _with a little bit of Eskrima. I was more enthused in my youth, but I've kept in practice."

"Good. I don't like lyin' ta people I like, an' the guys comin' are definitely people I like. The better you guys look like you belong in the class, the easier this'll be fer me." He gave the man another look, extended his ki.

The man was as calm as he looked, while still being highly alert. There was a faint tang of paranoia about him, which made sense, and Ranma briefly wondered how much more alert and paranoid the man would be if he was a field agent and not, as he described, a desk jockey. But mostly, he was a touch surprised: the man had a fair bit of ki. It felt raw and untrained, and, upon another look, there wasn't quite as much of it as Nabs had had before he trained her, but it was a lot more than most people had. Perhaps, just perhaps, the 'spies' part of these lessons wouldn't be a total waste of his time.

"Huh. You in a hurry, or do you have some time? I'd like ta see what ya can do."

"But of course I have time, mon ami." He gestured towards the Dojo. "After you."


	4. Chapter Three

_Author's note: I'm going to try to get the updates running smoothly from this point on, but no promises. My headspace is not as solid as it could be right now - looking for a job is damnably depressing - but I'll be putting in an effort. So long as my muse holds out, I should be able to make it._

_DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters, and this whole mess is a tribute and form of entertainment. Don't sue, I'm too broke to afford a lawyer._

Chapter Three

Marceau LaFleur, CSIS, hadn't done wetwork in a little over five years, but some habits never changed. For one, he always measured up any important person for a theoretical knife in the back should he be called upon for such a task. It was a habit he'd picked up in that profession, one he'd retained when he'd transferred to a desk job. Usually, it wasn't that hard to put such a plan together, even for someone with unusual skills and talents.

He wasn't exactly sure how he'd go about something like that with Ranma Saotome. Probably, like the American demon Hellboy, it would start with 'a precise headshot from an anti-materiel rifle from 500 yards in the dead of night while he's sleeping.' He was only slightly less sure that would work on Ranma than he was of Hellboy, though for different reasons. Hellboy, he figured it might not actually work if it hit. Ranma, he figured, might manage to dodge it anyway.

The little shit was just _that_ fast.

They'd spent an hour the night before sparring. LaFleur wasn't exactly a fanatic at the martial arts, but he was good. It had been a requirement in the old days, and he'd kept it up since to keep in shape. He knew he'd not lost his edge; it had been a point of pride to stay fit, a snub at the brass who decided to shove him behind a desk more often than not.

Ranma made him look like a rank amateur. A five-foot-nothing man, barely more than a kid, throwing him around like he wasn't most of a foot taller and a good twenty pounds heavier. And the whole hour, he'd been offering little tips and advice, little things he could do to tweak his combat style. And they'd _worked._ It was insane; the man was an utter genius when it came to combat, even if he was constantly chattering about ki and other mystic stuff that couldn't apply to a regular Joe like him. Marceau LaFleur felt like he'd made more progress in his martial arts in that hour than he had in the last year.

And so he found himself not just humoring his temporary sensei by showing up for a morning of class. He was actually _eager_ to feel like a raw rookie again. Hell, he was looking forward to seeing who else decided they were just going to unsubtly test the TSAB folks. At least he knew that CSIS, outside of its usual display of 'oh my aren't WE incompetent?' - IE sending a rather obvious foreigner to 'infiltrate' the place – was using that as protective colouration to disguise the real team as it set up a few blocks down. Everyone liked and trusted Canadians, thought they were all nice and sweet folks. They saw CSIS' mummery of incompetence and never looked past it.

He'd done an hour of 'light' sparring with Ranma already this morning. He was taking a break now, while Ranma worked with a student who wanted private lessons. Apparently, one got private lessons rather than group ones by being eager to learn, having lots of potential, and persistence.

The training thus far had been intense. He was trying to walk off the adrenaline, now, and fighting the urge to calm down via nicotine. He'd quit smoking several times over the course of his life, and was up to three weeks on this latest round, but he was having enough trouble calming down at the moment to consider it. It would make things so much _easier_, whispered a familiar little voice in the back of his mind. He tried to ignore the addiction. He _would_ ignore it. He was – he was about to spot another agent.

Walking through the crowds was an all too familiar face. Head and shoulders taller than the black-haired crowd, Michael Jones was a golden topped beacon. "Tabarnak," he muttered.

Jones seemed to notice him, and did a double-take. Shaking his head, he walked towards the Quebecois agent. "Not sure why I'm surprised to see you, Marceau. It's been what, three years?"

"About that. Since that business in Kenya, I think."

"Sounds right. I think I still owe you for that beer." Marceau waved that off. "Anyway. Your outfit isn't nearly loud and offensively touristy enough for you to be here for pleasure."

"I suspect we're both 'ere for the same mission."

"Entirely likely, and drop the act, LaFleur, I know that's not your real accent. Have you met this Ranma Saotome yet?"

"I've spent two hours getting my ass kicked by him."

Michael gave him an odd look. "You sound much to happy about that." The American made a show of giving him a look over. "Did you get replaced by a pod person, or something?"

LaFleur snorted. "No. I am learning. 'He lives up to 'is reputation."

There was a long moment of silence between them. Finally, Jones broke it. "So, do you have a backup team, or are you it?"

The Quebecois snorted. "Backup? You think we have a budget or something, eh? No, just me. Yourself?"

"I hope to God my boss has some in place. I swear, though, he's still pissed that the TSAB decided that they'd set up all their diplomatic stuff in Japan rather than the States. I'm doing double duty as an agent and an insult to their intelligence."

"I thought your President didn't mind t' situation."

"I suspect The Director agrees with the President about as often as your bosses agree with the Prime Minister."

"I suspect you're right." They both chuckled. "Merde, I hope that _someone_ had the good sense to do this properly and not just throw a man in front."

"At this point, I doubt it."

* * *

Katsushiro Roth, on his way back from a corner grocer and making a show of looking over a street vender's wares as he listened to the two agents chatter in a language they probably figured no-one else on the street understood, smirked at that.

* * *

The two spies had spent the last hour or so at an okonomiyaki restaurant, catching up on old times. They weren't close friends, but they'd run across each other a dozen or so times over the years on assorted missions. Given the line of work they were in, meeting someone who understood you was rare. Meeting someone like that who was outside your chain of command but nominally on your side was even better. The odds of critical words about one's superiors had rather less chance of reaching said superior's ears. They kibitzed over some genuinely excellent food, Marceau slipping back into 'character.'

Eventually, current business reared its ugly head. "So, you've met Saotome, and he's as good as his rep at fighting. What do you think of the man, beyond that?" Michael was still working on his okonmiyaki, but it was clear his attention wasn't on the food.

"'He seems smart, and very observant. Watching me walk along for a minute told him what martial arts I practiced. He's straightforward and honest, and I got t' distinct impression he's none too happy with his bosses about this situation."

"He have much to say about the Bureau?"

"Didn't really ask 'im about them. He's been offworld wi' them a few times by our records, and he's got one of their translators."

"Does he? That's good to know. My Japanese is a lot rustier than I'd thought."

Marceau chuckled. "As is mine, mon ami. Still, we will get by, no?"

"Still, if he's with them, he might make things difficult for us."

"I did not get the impression that he would go out of his way to cause problems. Though he'll probably insist on teaching you as much martial arts as he can before the Bureau group arrives. Make it look like we 'belong' in one of 'is advanced classes."

"Unlike certain poutine-gobbling Canadians I know, _I've_ kept in shape. I'll be fine."

LaFleur laughed. "Oh, Michael, I can't wait to see you meet him now." A pause. "No, I think he's going to try and help us, at least not hinder."

"So he won't pick a side? This Saotome is loyal to no-one?"

"Saotome-san is loyal to his friends first," said their waitress suddenly, in remarkably decent English. Neither spy had noticed her walk up to top up their drinks. "After his friends, he is loyal to those he has given his word to." She noticed their stares. "I am sorry, honored guests, but I could not help but overhear."

Marceau recovered first, slipped back into character. "No apology is needed, cherie, we should 'ave watched our words better, an' not assumed that none would understand."

"He's right," sighed Michael. "Much as I hate to say it. Still. You're a friend of this Ranma, miss...?"

"Konatsu. And yes, Saotome-san is a friend. And if you are having a problem, simply asking him may help to solve it. He appreciates people being.. what is the English phrase.. 'up front' with him."

"Good to know. Again, t'ank you, cherie."

Oo0

Arsène Lupin the Third hadn't expected to find himself back in Tokyo at any point in his life, really, but stranger things had happened over the years. Not so many since he'd traded in his black hat for a white one with the DGSE as a way to keep himself out of prison when everything finally went wrong, but still.

At least it would be an easy assignment; just monitor a particular dojo and hotel, both already nicely bugged, and keep an eye out for anything suspicious. He wasn't expected to dive headlong into any problems that might come up, which suited him fine. Without the old gang around, doing so held little appeal. He missed their adventures, though in his old age he was probably best off behaving himself with legit work. Especially legit work that still made use of some of his more refined skills.

0oO

Kendra Zendor made careful preparations for her journey from the Magical World and into Tokyo.

It would be her first time leaving her homeland, which would be enough to make her heart all aflutter on its own. But more than that – she was going to wed her beloved! Her fiance! It was enough to make a girl faint. She was so looking forward to it, but she was going to take her time, make sure all her preparations were done correctly. Crafting a temporary portal from her home to Tokyo would be tricky, especially since she only had Genma's memories of that city to work with, and none of her own. But she'd manage. Her heart demanded it.

Oo0

"No, Jones, you gotta _use_ yer reach! Stop tryin' ta grapple, she's stronger'n you are, an' she's got a stronger stance."

The big blond agent bit back a snarled reply and tried to get out of the Chinese girl's reach. His mood was not helped by the way Marceau kept laughing. It helped only very slightly that Ranma was calling advice to the purple-haired girl a fair bit as well, even if most of it boiled down to 'please don't break the American.'

Jones tried to block a kick as Shampoo lunged towards him again. He caught a piece of her pants leg, but not enough to protect himself or avoid the hit, and he found himself kissing the mat once again.

Shampoo offered him a hand-up, which he accepted with some gratitude. _God_ the woman was strong, he easily outweighed her by a hundred pounds and she picked him up like he was a goddam pillow. "Thanks," he said once he was back on his feet. He looked around the dojo, shook his head. "Not used to being this badly outclassed. You weren't even trying, were you?"

The Chinese giggled. "Was trying keep it almost fair fight. Trying not hurt you too bad; that make it hard."

LaFleur, damn his froggy hide, looked like he was going to hurt himself holding in laughter. "An' you were so sure you'd be fine. I told you, mon ami, an' you didn' listen."

"Oh, shut it."

Ranma was trying to look serious, but it was clear he was almost as close to giggles as the Chinese. "Enough. Jones, you should stretch out a little more; looked like you were a bit stiff. An' size helps, but not if you ain't leveraging it."

"I thought I _was_," he muttered. "Normally, grappling with someone I had that much height on would be a win."

"You no know Amazon ways," said Shampoo smugly.

"Ranma _did_ warn you," said Akane, her expression one that could only be described as gleeful.

"An' so did I," added LaFleur, smugly. "But non, no need to listen to t' Canuck."

Ranma raised a hand for silence. "Okay, guys, I think you rubbed it in enough. LaFleur, your turn. Akane, you want to take a crack at him?"

The young woman nodded."I could use a little control practice."

The Quebecois spy looked suddenly concerned, but quickly put his poker face back on. _Oh good,_ thought Jones, _I think I'm going to enjoy watching this._

He did, but not quite as much as he'd hoped. Marceau, though clearly outclassed, was probably in better shape than he himself was – which was impressive given he was mostly a desk jockey these days – and it was immediately clear to the American's eyes that the wiry little shit had gotten _faster_ since the last time they'd had a... professional disagreement... on the job. He took comfort from the fact that Ranma was actually giving him more advice than he'd given Jones, so clearly there was something for a picky – if admittedly damned skilled – martial artist to complain about.

All too soon, the round of sparring finished. Marceau had had no more success than he in challenging his opponent, though he'd taken a few less hits. The Canadian worked his left shoulder as he walked back to the side lines, grinning like an idiot. "See? Not just you who is outclassed, mon ami."

"I suppose. This is a bit surreal." He managed a self-depreciating grin. "At least nobody back at the office would believe it."

"Oui, but I have evidence. I took pictures of you getting your ass kicked by a girl."

"...You wouldn't."

"Perhaps right before your office Christmas party. That would be a good time for it, no?"

"You would." He sighed. "You have truly shattered every preconception I ever had of Canadians being kindly, honest, nice people."

"It took this long? Merde, I must be slip- _Tabarnak!_" His head whipped around, looking to the center of the room.

Michael followed his gaze. Ranma and Shampoo were sparring now, and he suddenly felt much better about his earlier defeat. They were _flying_, and moving almost faster than the eye could track, certainly faster than he himself could manage, even on his best day. "Holy shit."

"They are just showing off," said Akane in slightly accented English. "There is not really enough room in here to really practice flying combat."

"Merde, is this what he expects us to be able to do? To look like we 'belong' in his class?"

The Japanese girl giggled. "No, this is beyond even most of our circle of friends."

The three watched in near silence (Marceau was swearing quietly in French) for a few minutes. Then Jones asked, "I'm guessing you can do this, too?"

"Yes," replied Akane.

"Then, if I may ask, why the hell are you sparring with mere mortals like me and the Canuck?"

She gave him a look. "There are many ways to improve, and many things to learn. Control is very important. And we still have to work with regular people in the world, there is no point to being strong if you cannot move without hurting someone." A shrug. "And it was interesting. I have never fought someone who uses _savate_."

"I 'ope you enjoyed t' experience, cheri," said Marceau without looking away from the fight, which was up near the rafters now. What looked like honest-to-god energy blasts were flying around now. "Mon Dieu.. This is _insane_. And he thinks this can be learned?"

Akane shrugged. "He taught me. He thinks you have some potential, Marceau, and I agree."

"And me?" Jones couldn't keep some hope from his tone – if the Canuck could...

Akane paused, gave him a briefly measuring look. "Anyone can benefit from good training."

"I'll take it that's a no." Jones tried to keep from sounding hurt.

The Japanese girl took a moment to parse his turn of phrase. "Not for high end _ki_ abilities. But you could certainly make a very strong normal martial artist."

"Huh. I suppose from him that's a complement?"

"Yes. As he likes to put it, his standards are very high."

"Well, I suppose that's inevitable. How long do these matches usually take?"

"This one will probably last a little longer, they are both in a good mood."

The spar went on for another five minutes or so, before suddenly and abruptly heading for the mat, Ranma having landed a hefty blow to the Chinese woman's forehead. He'd caught her before she could hit. "Someone get me some water an' a cloth, didn't mean for that ta connect."

Marceau was already in motion. "What 'appened?"

"She zigged when I expected her to zag." He grimaced. "I screwed up."

Shampoo swatted the cold cloth away from her forehead. "Ooh... Not had that happen in a while."

"You okay?"

"Shampoo a bit dazed. Thought that was a feint, tried to get inside it." She touched her forehead lightly for a moment, shook her head, and said something in Chinese. Michael didn't catch it. Ranma replied in the same language, which he also didn't catch.

The purple-haired girl stood. "Shampoo spending too much time working ramen shop, should have been able to dodge that."

"In mid air, at that speed?" asked Marceau incredulously.

"Yes," matter of fact, as if it was obvious.

The two spies exchanged looks. Michael turned back to Akane. "The bunch of you are nuts."

"Perhaps we are." She was smiling. "It keeps life interesting."

"And on that note, I've got some more prep work to do before Aston's bunch get here," began Ranma. "So I think it's time to kick everyone out for the night. You okay getting home, Shampoo?"

She waved off his concern. "No-one living in this neighborhood dumb enough attack me."

"Fair enough, just don't want the Old Ghoul comin' after me."

"Well, if we 'ave to leave anyway, I'll offer to ease your mind, Saotome-Sensei," began Marceau, a jaunty grin on his face. "If t' young maiden would permit t' offer of escort?" He offered an arm. Looking more amused than offended, Shampoo accepted.

"Just be back early tomorrow, Marceau. I wanna throw some more training at ya. You got potential."

"Did that sound more like a jail sentence than a complement to anyone else?" asked Michael, smirking. Ranma responded with a toothy grin.

"Either way, I shall be here, Sensei. Madame, shall we?"

Giggling a bit, Shampoo lead the Canadian from the Dojo. They conversed in Chinese quietly.

"Want me around early, too, Saotome?"

"Sure, your form's not bad, but you could use some practice."

As he walked back to his hotel, Michael Jones reflected that this might not be the healthiest choice he'd ever made.

Oo0

Akane'd offered to help tidy up before she, too, took her leave, and they'd spent a few minutes straightening things up. Ranma had mostly been berating himself for accidentally connecting with a fairly hefty blow. Accidental hits while sparring weren't exactly rare among their bunch, but it had been a while since _Ranma_ had been the one making the hit. Akane had almost been out the door when Ranma's TSAB comm went off, and she'd paused while he went and answered it. He seemed amused after he'd gotten it.

"Good news this time?"

"Good news. Couple friends are in town, an' they're havin' a party tonight. I figure I can let planning slide a bit t' hang with Nanoha an' Fate."

"Those are the magical girls who you helped go after Ryoga with, right?"

"Yeah. Nanoha's family lives in Tokyo, an' she's apparently home on leave. Thus, party. Wanna come along? It sounded like they're inviting a buncha people."

Akane thought about it for a moment. _Well, it's not like I've got an early class tomorrow, and it might be interesting to meet these people... _"Why not?"

* * *

"It looks... normal," said Akane as they walked up to the Takamachi home. She'd been expecting something a little more... unusual for the home of a Magical Girl.

"So? The Saotome and Tendo Dojos look normal from the street, too." Ranma shrugged. "It'll be nice ta see Nanoha again. Figure I'll pick her brain a bit, get some trainin' ideas."

Akane giggled. "Or you could enjoy the party and not drag work into it. Aren't they on leave? I'd think they wouldn't want to chat about work stuff."

Another shrug. "Guess we'll see." He smirked. "Might try ta get her ta drop in halfway through a class, just ta watch Aston an' Dia panic."

"Oh?"

"They've run through her class before."

"Ah." It didn't explain everything, but given the _way_ he said it, she could guess.

Ranma knocked on the door, which was opened by an older man. "Good evening, I'm Ranma Saotome. Nanoha called me, an...'"

"Ah, come on in then. Shiro Takamachi." The two shook hands. "And your friend?"

"Akane Tendo," she said, and shook the man's outstretched hand. There were old, thin scars running along it, and combined with the strength of his grip, she figured him for a fighter of some kind. He lead them both inside. She saw a number of people she didn't recognize, as well as Usagi(sans disguise, which was generally a good sign) and Nanoha and Fate. She hoped they were as nice as Ranma made them out to be, because she'd been a royal ass to them when they'd first met.

"Hey, Nanoha," said Ranma, shaking her hand. "Gotta say, I wasn't expectin' ta see you so soon."

She grinned widely. "Peace broke out, so we got a chance to take some leave." She gestured around the small group she was sitting with. "I'd like you to meet my friends, Alisa Bannings and Suzuka Tsukimura."

Ranma gave a slight bow. "I'm honored. This is Akane Tendo." He glanced around as Akane gave a quiet greeting of her own. "Where's Vivio? Or is she on the Mid with Yuuno right now?"

"She's around somewhere. When Chibi-Usa arrived, the two of them took off, thick as thieves."

"Ah. We'll find out what they're up to when they spring it, I guess." A round of grins and chuckling went around the group at that. "So how are you two – huh." He blinked, grinned. "I guess congratulations are in order." Nanoha and Fate both smiled.

"What are you talking about?" asked Akane.

At the same time, Alisa whispered to Fate, "You're not showing yet at _all_, how can he possibly tell?"

"Look at their ki," said Ranma, glancing at Akane.

"He cheats," said Fate, and Nanoha giggled as she nodded.

"Just 'cause it ain't magic don't make it cheating."

Akane tuned them out. Look at their ki? She could do that, but she wasn't anywhere near as skilled at it as Ranma was. Regular sight would only distract her, so she closed her eyes, and exhaled, willing her ki to follow the breath into the room.

Ranma –_ A bonfire, yet one kept tightly controlled, bound by discipline and will._

Usagi – _A miniature sun next to Ranma's bonfire; not the same kind of energy, not even simply magic, but something distinct and somehow more pure._

She focused; between them, they nearly drowned out everything else in the room. But they always did, and they were familiar; she could look past them. Concentrating, she filtered them out.

Nanoha's family – _Father, brother, and sister glowed with power, like Ranma's but in lesser quantities. Her mother, by contrast, seems normal._

Alisa and Suzuka – _Not normal, but she could not quantify _why_ they seemed odd._

Concentrating, loosing another breath, she finally focused on Nanoha and Fate – _strength, love, magic, confidence and power. Even looking past the magic, more power than she expected, and within - _

She blinked. _Within, she saw a light within the greater light, pulsing not-quite-in-sync with the greater. A reflection? An echo? No, neither of those... A second ki source within each of them. _

_ A child._

Eyes wide, Akane sat down quickly. Ranma, perhaps expecting that reaction, had a chair ready for her. "Wow. Did I... did I see..."

Fate smile softly. "Babies? Yes."

"Heckuva sight, isn't it?" Said Ranma.

"Yes. Yes it is."

* * *

Miyuki was glad enough to see her niece – she didn't get _near_ enough chances to spoil little Vivio – and seeing her little sister again was fine too. The bureaucrats she worked for were generally quite stingy when it came to leave; or at least leave that worked for Nanoha and Fate together. Hopefully, they'd be a little less unpleasant about that sort of thing in the future. She really wanted to be able to spend time with her impending nieces.

If not, well, she intended to make the most of the next few months. She was well behind on her quota of teasing and otherwise annoying her little sister. She took a little more care about that, these days, than she did when they were younger, but it was all in good fun, and Nanoha knew it and mostly didn't hold it against her.

Of course, they knew how a serious fight between them would end. Miyuki, Kyoya and their father Shiro had defended the family shop-slash-dojo during the Battle Of Tokyo, and had seen off a number of lesser youma. But when a squad of Bradeson marines had shown up in armor, they'd not even been able to scratch them. Shiro had stayed at the dojo while the siblings drew the marines off, leading them on a merry chase and finally feeding them to a JSDF ambush. They'd felt quite proud of themselves, too, pulling that off.

Until they watched the news coverage that night and saw their little sister shatter Bradie power armor and mechs in job lots outside the Imperial Palace. Annoying, that.

Still, it was good to have her home for a while, and get some genuine family time. The Takamachis didn't get enough of that, which was perhaps a given in their line of work. And for all that a fair bit of effort had gone into setup, and more would go into cleanup later, she was glad they were throwing this party. It was looking to be really fun, and she was _really _looking forward to finding out what Vivio and Chibi-Usa were up to – the most likely targets of their inevitable mischief weren't her.

Saotome might be the target, which would be entertaining. She'd enjoy seeing that – she well knew the aquatransexual's rep was justified, but seeing what he'd do when attacked by someone he couldn't retaliate against would be amusing. Or they might go after Kyoya. Her brother had been his usual Casanova self the first time he'd met the Senshi, and for all of Usagi's protests about having a boyfriend of her own already, her gaze had followed him as much as the others. Chibi-Usa, being, it seemed, Usagi's daughter from the future or something, was less than amused by his flirting, and had expressed her displeasure with Kyoya in entertaining fashion. Vivio liked playing pranks on her uncle, and would likely go along with Usa's targeting decisions.

Her sister met the weirdest people. It did, at least, make things amusing.

Right now, Nanoha and Ranma were talking shop – two teachers comparing ideas. Protests that this was a party, and she was on leave, hadn't deterred either of them. Nanoha was a total workaholic, but one who enjoyed her work. So, it seemed, was Ranma. They were having fun over in a corner chatting about training people. Shiro had joined them, no doubt offering various anecdotes about training herself and Kyoya.

Friends, family, and excellent food. Yes, this had all the makings of a good night.

* * *

Akane had recovered her composure fairly well. She was the first to admit(well, these days, at least – her sisters wouldn't let her forget that she never _used_ to admit it) that she didn't react to surprises well, but a surprise like that; a beautiful sight that had given her abilities to read another's ki a promotion from 'occasionally useful skill in combat' to 'something I really do need to use lots more' was at least a nice surprise.

She hadn't been sure she'd enjoy this little party, but so far it was surprisingly fun. Chatting with Usagi was always fun, and the others were quite interesting. Fate wasn't someone she really knew – she'd met the blonde when the Bureau had first recruited Ranma, of course, and once or twice since then, but she'd never really had a chance to chat with her, or with Nanoha. That the two women were devoted to each other, and their children, was obvious. She didn't exactly _approve_ of it, mind, but just like Haruka and Michiru, it seemed to be working for them.

Alisa and Suzuka(she still couldn't quite nail down _why_ their ki seemed odd, but it would be... impolite to blurt out a question about it) seemed nice enough as well, and the four of them were chatting together. Usagi was looking a lot more cheerful than Akane'd seen the Senshi in a while, relaxing around friends. The group talked about classes, and work, plans and dreams. Fate had some interesting stories of her adventures on other worlds. Eventually, conversation wandered back to Nanoha and Fate's children.

"So," asked Alisa, "have you picked names yet?"

Fate smiled. "We have. We know they're both girls, and mine will be Miyuki Lindy Haralowan. Nanoha's will be Alicia Momoko Takamachi."

"Good names," said Alisa. Suzuka and Usagi nodded agreement. The way they agreed, Akane figured there was some history involved; she'd ask Ranma or Usagi later. For the moment...

"I have to ask," she began, "And I'm sorry if this is sort of a rude question, but I'm honestly curious... Who are the fathers?"

Fate's smile turned wry. "It's a valid question. Technically, we both are." There was a round of confused blinking in the small group. Fate giggled, then elaborated. "One of the worlds we encountered during and after the Battle of the Rift is called Mejale. It was colonized entirely by women centuries ago. With a world full of women, and no men, they've come up with some interesting medical science to take care of procreation."

"Why would they even set up a world like that?" asked Usagi, head tilted a bit to one side.

"We're not sure yet, they're fairly private about their history. We know it wasn't their choice, but imposed by the world that created the colony in the first place." She shrugged. "They've been at war with a similar world, Tarak, settled entirely by men, for generations."

"Weird," said Akane, thoughts racing. Worlds with entirely single-sex populations? Madness! What sick-minded lunatic would _do_ that to their own people?

Usagi nodded slowly, also looking thoughtful. "So they're what, combining eggs from each mother, on Mejale?"

"Essentially, though there was a bit more involved. Biology isn't my field, I didn't understand all of it, though the women tried their best to explain it to us."

"Sounds like an interesting place," said Suzuka.

"Oh yes, and quite beautiful. They're interested in joining the Bureau, too."

"And this... Tarak?"

"Not so much, though we're trying to talk to them, too."

"I can almost see how Mejale's solution would work, but how does a planet full of men make babies?"

"Massive bio-labs and state-run creches, as far as we heard." A shrug. "Tarak's nowhere near as nice a planet as Mejale, in many ways."

Before Akane could ask her to elaborate – Ranma, for all he'd been to several worlds now, was maddeningly vague about them when he _did_ tell tales – there was a loud, flashy, but largely harmless blast of energy at the far side of the Dojo, accompanied by a splashing noise. A thoroughly soaked, and somewhat singed-looking, Ranma blinked, pushing sodden red hair out of her face with a sigh. Hidden somewhere out of immediate sight, two children giggled.

* * *

The rest of the party had gone without real incident. Vivio and Chibi-Usa had both been tracked down, and made to apologize. Vivio had even sounded sincere. Though Ranma had admitted his own unhappiness with being pranked was undermined by the fact that he'dve had no problem with them pranking someone _other _than him.

Everyone had had fun. Akane had learned more about the Bureau, and about two magical girls who Ranma counted as allies. He got along with them easily, and that had worried her a little at first, but she'd dismissed any concerns long before the end of the night. Where she didn't worry about Michiru or Haruka going after Ranma because they had no interest in his male form, she didn't worry about Nanoha or Fate going after her fiance for a simpler, and more profound reason. They had eyes only for each other.

Even beyond that, she found she liked the two, and their friends. They were all fundamentally decent people, and she didn't know enough people like that in this world. They'd parted ways cheerfully enough, and Ranma had walked with her as far as the nearest Light Rail station. She'd headed for Nerima, he for his own dojo.

An interesting evening, and one that had given her much to think about. For all it sounded like a strange and outright weird place, she figured she'd like to see Mejale someday. Bizarre society, of course, but... well, after two years of training with the Outer Senshi, she couldn't muster any real outrage at the concept.

A wry smile: _Either those two have been corrupting me more than I thought, or I'm mellowing as I grow up._


	5. Chapter Four

_Disclaimer: We all know it at this point. I don't own these characters and I don't make any claims to them or the worlds they appear in. Just entertaining myself here, and I'm not worth suing - can't squeeze water from a rock._

Chapter Four

As she washed dishes, Kasumi Tendo hummed a happy tune. It had been a good few months for her. Her sisters were both doing well in their studies, and her father seemed to be a bit more cheerful than usual these last few weeks. And, on a personal note, things between herself and Dr. Ono were going well. Proceeding slowly, perhaps, but proceeding nonetheless. They were both, by nature, patient people, not of a temperament to rush. She glanced to his latest card, smiling anew at the memory of that wonderful evening. She'd have to call him, later on.

Akane and Nabiki were both off for classes already, after their morning spar. The two had bonded over the last few years, which was gratifying given how badly things between them had been at one point. Since then, they'd learned to trust each other – as long as money wasn't involved, at least – and had become close friends as well as siblings.

_Mother would be happy to see it_, Kasumi thought, blinking away the tear thoughts of the mother she could never truly replace always brought. The ache in her heart was familiar, and no less painful for her being used to it, but she was all right with that. If ever a day came that her mother's loss ceased to hurt, it would perhaps be a greater tragedy than the pain.

Suddenly, there was a flash from the back yard. Looking through the window, Kasumi saw what looked almost like an arch of light next to the koi pond. _Magic of some kind, but whose?_ Smoothly, she put down the dish she was working on, wiped her hands on a towel. She reached the back door a step behind her father. Soun Tendo looked like he really wanted to send someone else out there ahead of himself, but she was no fighter, and he knew it. As the arch of light grew in intensity, glowing a deep purple, he strode hesitantly into the yard.

The arch resolved into a doorway. Soun stiffened, halted. Kasumi stopped behind him. From the doorway stepped a tall figure. Behind it, the arch began to collapse in on itself.

As the light of the magic door faded, the figure came into focus. She was tall, slim, and blonde. _Gaijin_ in appearance, clad in simple blue robes. Even as relatively unversed and unpracticed in the martial arts as she was, Kasumi could tell in an instant that this woman was one of great power.

She looked towards them, and, with an odd light in her purple eyes, she said, "Good day, sir and' ma'am. Ah'm trying to reach Tokyo – Have ah come to t' right place?"

Her father visibly drew himself up. "It is. Who are you, who barges into my property?"

The stranger giggled. "Ah do declare, Ah'm sorry about that. Mah name is Kendra Zendor. Ah'm a sorceress, an' ah'm in town for some personal business." A pause. "Mah guide told me ta call upon the Tendo Dojo when ah reached Tokyo, tah get mahself some directions. T' Gate _shoulda_ brought me neah there – do you know if ah'm close?"

Soun looked wary. Knowing her father, only the fact that there was no-one else here to save Kasumi herself kept him from trying to fob this... stranger... off on someone else. He would never put her in danger. "What business do you have with the Tendos?"

"Ah was told they could point me in t'right direction. Ahm' lookin' foah Ranma Saotome."

Something in the way she said the name gave Kasumi an odd twinge. Without consciously realizing it, she slid a bit more directly behind her father.

Soun hesitated a long moment before responding. "Might I ask what you want Saotome for?"

"Ah met his fatha an' he descrabhed him as t' most _amazin_' fellow. Ah have some... business to conduct with him."

"You met Genma Saotome? He's an old friend. How was he?"

"Oh, Mistah Saotome is an excellent guest. Anyway. Do you know where Ah could find t' Tendos?"

"No, but I can tell you where to find Ranma. His Dojo's in Juuban, part way across town."

"Why, thank you, good suh. Ah shall be going, then."

Soun directed her towards the front gate, steering her around the side of the house. As she walked up the street, Kasumi asked, "Father, why did you..."

"Lie?" Soun stepped inside the gate and closed it, then visibly deflated, slumping against it. "Because something about that woman scared me to death. But I'm sure Ranma can deal with her easily. It should be fine."

Kasumi wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her, or himself.

Oo0

Marceau LaFleur clutched his cigarette and hung on for dear life.

_ I have no idea what the hell all this means. Good God, I don't even know what all I can _do _with this!_

Just like yesterday, he'd showed up at ohgod o'clock for some sparring and 'advanced training' with Ranma. Just like yesterday, he'd gotten his ass kicked. Just like yesterday, Ranma spent the entire lesson pelting him with bits of mystic mumbo-jumbo.

Unlike yesterday, they got into 'practical applications.'

He looked at the back of his hand again. Knuckles white from their death-grip around his lighter; unmarked by the brick Ranma had suddenly thrust in front of him. A brick he'd shattered. A brick like the ones he occasionally broke out for his own practice, that he normally did well to crack, and never tried to hit without gloves or handwraps.

The mystic crap wasn't quite so crap as he'd thought.

Slowly, the icy balm of nicotine entered his bloodstream, slowing his racing heart and calming him. Two deep drags, a slow exhalation. Marceau drew himself up and looked around. In his burst of nerves, he'd gotten himself turned around. He started back towards his hotel. He badly needed a shower, get himself back in a proper headspace for the job at hand, catch up on his reports-

"Tabarnak. Reports." What the hell was he going to put in his report about this? _0610 hrs Tokyo time – had semi-superhuman abilities unlocked by Saotome._ Except that, according to him at any rate, Saotome _hadn't_ done anything to him. The aquatransexual had simply talked him through the process of doing something he did unconsciously. And could, at least in theory, teach him how to do it deliberately. It had thrown him off. A lot. He'd broken character in his surprise – all well and good for these others to do strange, vaguely superhuman, things; _he_ was simply a perfectly normal spy from Montreal. Saotome had called him on the faked accent, but he hadn't sounded too angry about it, which was for the best.

As he neared the hotel, a familiar voice interrupted his train of thought. "So much for giving up the sin sticks, huh, LaFleur? That makes this, what, the forth time you've fallen off the wagon this year?"

"Get stuffed, Jones. And where were you this morning?"

The yank matched his stride. "I got caught up in some paperwork last night, didn't crash until late. How'd your morning lesson go?"

"That flying and energy blasting crap we saw last night? He can teach it. Apparently, I've been doing the basics of it without realizing it."

Michael Jones did a double take. "You're joking."

Marceau took a last drag on his cigarette, stubbed it out against the side of a building. "The very basics. He wants to teach me how to do it deliberately."

"Damn. Why not jump at it?"

"Because being able to do things like a character from some pulp fiction or a comic book is just fine in a comic book or cheap fiction, but this is the real world."

"Do I really need to point out the fact that this particular real world has proven the existence of magic and that the city we're standing in got invaded by magic-wielding space aliens two years ago?"

LaFleur muttered something profane.

"Hey, it's not my fault the world's screwed up. In fact, I'd say most of the credit goes to the superhuman set." A beat. "Hey, aren't you one of them?" A longer pause, as LaFleur continued to mutter. "So, what, you took a break to clear your head, or what?"

"I got rescued by a distraction. Our British counterpart. Never thought I'd be happy to see that bastard..."

Oo0

James Bond, Ranma decided, was a prick.

He put on what Ranma had pegged as a false face – not for nothing had he spent years living with, and later training, Nabiki Tendo – and pretended to be as jovial and harmless as you please. But it was even faker than LaFleur's accent, if probably something that existed for the same reason.

"So you're here for more or less the same reason as Marceau and Michael?"

"Michael Jones? My, it'll be like old times. Yes, my job is to observe the Bureau people."

"Doesn't Gil Graham live in England? Haven't you guys asked him about this stuff?"

Bond gave him a look that suggested he was nothing but an idiot. "Of course we have. Now, we want to see how much he told us was true."

"Okay, fair enough. So. If I gotta pass you off as a student in an advanced class, I need ta know whatcha can do."

Bond's smirk didn't reach his eyes. "Do you expect me to be some kind of martial arts savant?"

"No, Mister Bond, but I expect you to try." He was getting genuinely annoyed. "If you want to get into this class to spy on my friends, you're going to be going through lessons, too."

"I'm no novice in fighting, I'm sure I'll measure up to whatever standards you have."

Ranma smirked at that. "Yer the third spy to say that ta me. T' others changed their tune once they saw what I can do."

"Did they now. This is irrelevant, Saotome. I know you've been ordered to aid us as we gather information. I'm not about to go into some song and dance to appease you to do my job."

Ranma managed to keep an angry snarl out of his voice, but it was a close thing. "So plant some cameras and mics and bug my phone _yet again._ Or go stake out their hotel or something. But if you want to observe in person, in my Dojo, you do it as part of the class."

"Such theatrics." _Damn that grin._

"Maybe so. But Mister Bond? I really, really, don't like lying to my friends. I wish I'd just been handed, I dunno, a list of questions or something. I get why I been ordered ta help with this, an' why you guys're askin' around. I don't like it. If I c'n say you guys are here to train? One less lie I need ta tell. An' frankly, it gives you a way ta learn about how they work that's _way_ better than just watchin."

"Interesting arguments, Saotome." _Now_ his smile reached his eyes. "Stubborn and headstrong lad. Or is it lass? I've heard a fair bit about you."

"Lad," Ranma ground out. _Oh yeah, he's tryin' ta piss me off now._ "You gonna just keep needling me, or you wanna get ta learnin'?"

Bond's smile was a razor again. "Well, if it'll make you happy about the situation."

"It might. Simple spar, first ta hit the mat loses."

* * *

James Bond smirked as he stretched, working out the kinks of a long flight in preparation for a bit of sparring. He was looking forward to this. Ranma Saotome's file had been made available to him, and it had rather a lot of detail. If he tried for a fair fight against the smaller man, Bond would lose. Badly.

_It's a good thing I don't believe in fighting fair. _He had any number of dirty tricks up his proverbial sleeves – Q had outdone himself – and he fully intended to knock the aquatransexual down a notch. The young man's self-righteousness was annoying.

And everyone needed to have their legs kicked out from beneath them once in a while to keep them honest. Bond intended to give the lad that kicking.

Loosened up, he walked towards Ranma, dropped into a fighting stance. This would be interesting. He wasn't totally sure how this would play out – Saotome hadn't risen to his bait quite as well as he'd expected, so he couldn't totally trust what the file said about his temper, but the younger man had an arrogance to him quite like Bond's own. Goading him into a mistake wouldn't be too hard; then he'd just take unfair advantage. And he'd never met an unfair advantage he didn't like.

Ranma flowed into a stance of his own and Bond lunged. As he expected, the martial artist saw through his opening feint. "Not bad, Bond. Mixed style, it looks like."

"I've picked up a bit here and there. Nothing too formal outside of the Agency training, though." _Plenty of 'off the books' training, of course. MI6's files might be compromised; but that won't tell people just what I can do._ A gross violation of the regs, especially as the department had picked up the tab for most of the training, but one he could happily live with.

He doubted he was fooling M, of course, but thus far he and she had an understanding about that sort of thing.

Ranma moved in with a few experimental jabs, clearly just trying to get things started. Bond responded with a combination attack that the younger man flowed around like a spring breeze. Even expecting it, the sheer _degree _of grace Ranma showed with every move was impressive. A few more exchanges, all probing – Bond kept himself within the ranks of one style. He would husband his skills.

"I see I ain't t' only one lookin' fer info. I'm guessin' ya got some Ju Jutsu an' one'r two schools of Karate?"

Bond meerly grunted in response, trying to give the impression that he was more pressed than he was. "Telling you would hardly be sporting. Aren't you supposed to be some kind of genius?"

Ranma's response was to make another combination attack, this one, Bond realized abruptly, a bit of pure Ju Jutsu; mimicking his own save for an adjustment for their relative height.

The Double O agent smirked. So Saotome could be goaded; one simply needed to choose the button to push more closely. His attempt to retaliate didn't come any closer to connecting than his previous ones. But to his eye, at least, it seemed that Saotome's dodge wasn't quite as smooth.

_Good enough to get my point across_, he thought, and palmed a small sphere. Two more exchanges of blows, then he squeezed the bulb, flicked it up between them, and looked away. Even turned around, the flash left him seeing spots. Ranma, who'd been looking right at it, swore in Japanese and made a standing jump out of reach.

Forty feet out of reach, landing lightly on the top of a punching post. Even as he pulled the next hidden weapon out of his arsenal, Bond admitted a moment's admiration for young man's skills. He'd cheerfully kill someone for the ability to do that. Not that that would stop him, of course. Ears ringing from the flashbang, he took aim. The concealed taser discharged with a barely-audible mechanical _cling_, its needles and wire arcing across the dojo. Ranma had a hand over his eyes, and there was no way he could see or hear the attack coming.

Somehow, he heard it coming, started spinning away from the descending needles. One caught his shoulder, the other overshot. Saotome yanked the taser needle from where it hit, landed nimbly. Bond had just enough time to think; _how did he_- when Ranma, eyes still closed, bounded towards him. The thought turned into a bit of profanity. One of Ranma's hands flashed out, found the taser, and sent it flying.

Voice loud to go over the ringing in both their ears, Ranma still somehow sounded relaxed. "Hidden weapon style. Not bad, knew ya had some kinda armed style in there somewhere," he began, eyes still closed, to launch into a series of attacks. Still processing things, Bond fell back into blocks by rote. "Didn't see anything in t' usual hidin' spots on ya, didn't think you were carryin'. My mistake."

Bond tried to retake the initiative and recover his poise. "I know a man who does excellent work. Unconventional equipment for unconventional ops."

"Think I'd like ta meet 'im someday. He does good work." He feinted high, and Bond fell for it, as a leg-sweep deposited him on the mat. Blinking rapidly, smirking, Ranma extended a hand.

Bond took it. The smaller man hauled him up effortlessly. "How t' devil did you dodge the taser?"

"I just heard somethin' comin' at me an' got outta the way." A shrug. "An' there's more ways ta see what's goin' on than yer eyes." His smirk pulled higher. "Still think there's nothin' ta learn here?"

Bond returned the smirk with one of his own. "If you're willing to teach, I think I could stand for a... refresher course over this assignment." _And if there's a way in hell to pick up that sight you talk about, that I would _definitely _kill for._

Ranma seemed to deflate a bit. "Thanks. I... I appreciate that. I honestly ain't tryin' ta be an ass about this, I just... I got my way a' doin' stuff."

"So do we all." Bond picked up the taser -disguised as a wallet- and started it reeling in, trying to keep the wires from tangling. "Do I pass muster, then?"

"Yeah, yer good enough ta pull things off with. Heck, if both needles had hit me, it mighta been enough ta dump me on t' mat, with how bad that grenade did me over. I'd ask ya not ta use yer nastier tricks fer class sparrin' though. Oh, an' I'd suggest not tryin ta wind up Aston an' his people like ya were tryin ta' wind me up."

"Oh, I have no intention of deliberately aggravating them. I was testing you, Saotome. For a truant and major discipline problem in your school, you've impressive control of your temper." He headed for a side table where a pitcher of water and some disposable cups sat. _Damnation. I knew what to expect, from his files, but he still managed to surprise me. It's not just the JSDF that'll be beating down his door once _this _report gets done. At least, if he's half as good at teaching as he is at fighting._

Ranma gave him a look. "Wondered if that was what ya were after. It took me a while, but I grew up some." A shrug. "You regularly try ta piss off people who can snap ya in half like a twig?"

Bond poured himself a drink. "Saotome, I regularly go after terrorists, maniacs, politicians, and fanatics. Most of them are surrounded by thugs, be they fellow travelers, army types, or mercenaries, and all of them willing to kill, all to keep England safe and occasionally get the girl." Ah, nice cold water. "Compared to that? Aggravating one lad with a rep for hating killing simply doesn't compare."

Ranma laughed. "Yeah, okay, I 'kin see it. Man. I bet you got some good stories."

Bond refilled his drink. "All classified, I'm afraid." _Oh, I shouldn't do this. M explicitly told me not to do this... _"As much as dodging the taser, I'll admit that hopping to that post was impressive too. That 'extra sight' you mentioned, or just knowing where everything is?" _Ah, but when has that ever stopped me?_

"Mostly knowin' where stuff is. Been here mosta two years now, an' I got a good memory for that kinda thing." A pause. "Any other questions before ya head out?"

"You'll give me a call when you know when the first lesson with this Aston and his people will be?"

"On the outside chance that you guys won't know before me, ya buncha spies, yes."

"Then just one more bit of curiosity." _I am a bad man._

"Oh?"

A quick motion, and cold water hit the martial artist. The change was every bit as instant as the files proclaimed. The redhead sighed. "Of course. Shoulda guessed."

"The pictures don't do you justice, my dear." He tipped a nonexistent hat. "Later, then."

"Ah, geddouta here."

0oO

Ranma was back in girl form for Women's Self Defense class. Partly, it was because most of the ladies who attended seemed to react better to a female teacher. Partly, it was because a fair number of them had reacted to his male form in a way he _really_ didn't want to deal with – there were enough pursuant females in his life already, thank you. And perhaps most important, as far as the aquatransexual was concerned, was because ki simply flowed differently in a female body than a male one. There were a few who regularly attended the drop-in class who had the potential to be truly great if they wanted to learn for real. So she tried to put as many ki-related hints in her lesson as she could for what was, ultimately, a very general and basic class.

It didn't much look like she was gonna have any more luck tempting the ladies with potential into proper classes than she'd had the last several months. But even the ladies who were just here for exercise looked to be in a good mood, and they were paying attention. It wasn't spectacular, but it was satisfying, and Ranma was happy enough to be leading it.

There was a knock at the doorway, and a rustle of curious chatter. Ranma looked over; Aston and company stood in the door. The staff sergeant was giving the crowd a simple, evaluating look, while the others seemed more curious. Aston and Ranma exchanged waves, and she gestured them to the water table. "We still have twenty minutes of lesson to go, ladies," she said, gently reminding her class.

She'd had to make the attempt, but it was ultimately futile. The distraction had arrived, and the class just wouldn't concentrate for the most part. It didn't help that Aston's bunch were all obviously foreigners – curiosity magnets at the best of times. Finally, a few minutes before the lesson was supposed to end, Ranma dismissed everyone. They weren't accomplishing anything anyway.

As the class began to disperse, Ranma walked over to where Aston and his squad were standing. Dai was watching the departing stream of young women with a smirk that earned him a few unfriendly looks. "You might wanna remember who's training those ladies before you piss 'em off, Dai."

The marine's smirk grew to a full on smile as he turned to Ranma. "Lighten up, Red. Just seeing the sights. Besides, if they start something, my squaddies have my back."

"Not if you deserve it," said Kia. Aston and Kal both laughed.

"Glad you made it," said Ranma. "Decent trip?"

"Good as any," said Aston. "You know, for someone who protested that you didn't think you'd be a good teacher, you've got a lot of students."

"What, back when Chrono tried to talk me into it on my first trip?" Aston nodded. "Well, that was before I got sweet-talked inta the first class. Once I tried, I realized I wasn't bad – just not something I expected. Helps that my first student already had a good base in the Art." A shrug. "This ain't real technical stuff, just the kinda things that'll work when some creep onna train decides ta make himself obnoxious or the like." A beat. "Or if a marine on the town bugs 'em."

Dai waved off her comment. "Please. One on one, my eccentric charm will protect me."

"That, and the barrier spells," deadpaned Kia. "Seriously, man, stop digging."

There was a bit more banter as the last few students filtered out. Ranma, who'd been heating some water, changed back as the last one hit the door. "Anyway. Glad ya made it, an' I hope we kin' learn somethin' together. There's a couple other students here for t' advanced classes. First one's tomorrow evening. They give you a number fer calls an' stuff, or is telepathy t' only way ta reach ya?"

"They said something about phones in the hotel; I don't know exactly what yet."

"Here's t' number fer this place; when ya get yer hotel number, gimmie a call an' I'll write it down."

"That should work." Aston gave the dojo another evaluating look, nodded to Kal. The taller mage muttered something, sending a small blue ball of light scuttling around.

"Some decent wards here; but it doesn't look like they're set up to contain anything..."

"Nah, they're security fer this place, keepin' out thieves an' relatives when I ain't here. Senshi put 'em in. Anything else fer now, or do ya wanna go settle in?"

The squad had a quick telepathic conference, then Aston spoke for the group. "We're going to settle in, I think. Probably look around Tokyo tonight as well."

"Don't party too hard. I've heard stories 'bout Nanoha's trainin'. I think she's got t' right idea. Anyway, have fun. I got some calls ta make."

* * *

As they walked back to their hotel, taking in the sights and sounds of Tokyo, Kia Sent to the group, _So. 'Other people' in the class. Bets on how many of them are spies?_

_ Sucker bet,_ replied Dai. _Safe to assume they all are._

_ No active scrying on the dojo, but plenty of technological devices that could be monitoring gear, _concurred Kal. _We're a popular bunch._

Aston's smile was lopsided. _True enough, friends. But let's not point out that we've seen through things. That would just be rude. We'll see how they want to play it._

Oo0

The arcade was crowded even this early in the afternoon. Thinking on it for a moment, Ranma couldn't remember _ever_ seeing this place without a crowd. Even in the aftermath of the Battle, there'd been people here; by luck it was mostly intact, and they'd converted it into an aid station. It was a busy, happy place, and he himself had blown more cash than he cared to admit within. Some good memories.

But for now, that wasn't terribly important. What was, was that this was most likely where he'd find Usagi, and he needed to let the Senshi know they were in business. He'd already swung past her home, and had debated _arcade_ against _campus_ for a few moments before setting off again. He'd guessed right.

Even from half a block's distance, she shone like a spotlight in his ki sight. All the Senshi did, really, but Usagi more than the others. Hell, all mages showed up bright and distinct to those senses, though not all magic had the same 'feel' to it. He'd established TSAB mages as his 'baseline,' given that he'd really started developing his ki sight while working with them, though it wasn't perfect. If nothing else, Bureau mages had a couple different styles between them, different enough that he could tell a Mid-Childan school mage from one who practiced the Belkan school. It was kinda interesting, really, in an intellectual sort of way. Most mages had a different feel. It seemed to be a side effect of the way they used their power as much as the source of it. The difference was often subtle, but it was a good way to work on the detail end of his abilities.

He reflected on that as he walked into the arcade. The crowd had the feel of 'regular business' and not 'we've got a celebrity here today folks' so he knew not to look for a flash of silver...

Usagi, shrouded in a disguise spell that made her look like a brunette with hair in a semi-elaborate braid, was on a dancing game, taking on a girl he didn't recognize. From the look of the crowd and the way they were cheering, he'd be willing to bet she'd been up there a while on the same credit – a small line stood behind the stranger. A smirk; one of the few things Usagi had to say in favour of the martial arts training she'd been dragged into by the other Senshi was that it had cured her of her clumsiness. She was, Ranma reflected as he approached the crowd, a fairly good learner. If she only _applied_ herself, she'd be outstanding, but that was an argument long since lost.

The song finished, with Usagi raising her hands in victory as her challenger cried out in outraged defeat. The next challenger stepped up, started feeding in yen, when Usagi turned to grab a drink on a sideboard. She did a double take when she spotted him.

_Is something the matter, Ranma?_

_ Nothin' major. Just wanted ta talk. I c'n wait till yer done with this bunch, if you want._

_ ...Thanks. I haven't had much chance to relax in a few days._

_ Take your time._

Ranma briefly considered buying some ice cream, but decided against it – it just didn't taste as good when he was in guy form, and he didn't much feel like swapping at the moment. And besides; it'd been a while since he'd killed time in an arcade. His own life had been too busy for a while, so he'd take the excuse and run with it. If memory served, this place still had an old _Macross_ machine...

Twenty minutes and a few hundred yen later, Usagi wandered over. "You wanted something?"

"Yeah. Businessy stuff. We should probably take a walk."

Usagi nodded. "I see. Okay."

Outside, Ranma waited until they'd gotten a block away from the arcade before he got started. "Sergeant Aston's squad hit town today. Gonna need ya tomorrow evening fer the class."

"Already? Huh. I, well, I guess I expected them to take longer to get here."

"Me too, ta be honest. Somebody must be pushin' ta get this in gear, shovin' it through the bureaucracy."

She giggled. "Thanks for letting me know, I guess. Uhm, why didn't you just call?"

Ranma snorted. "Right now, my phone's probably bugged ta hell an' gone. 'Sides, you know I like ta talk in person." A shrug. "Anyway. I know ya were sayin' ya weren't totally sure about teachin', but I figure you'll do fine."

Usagi glanced away. "I know you'd rather have Mako-chan or Haruka to help teach. I'm not as good at the fighting, or the theory..."

"Hey, we'll make it work. Heck, this might even be better, far as I'm concerned. T' point ain't a 'one true way' ta mix magic and close combat, it's ta get 'em thinkin' 'bout how ta do it themselves."

She gave him a look. "I _know _that. Still. You _do_ realize that I don't quite use magic the same way a Mid-Childan school mage does?"

"I actually managed to stay awake through one'a Ami's lectures on that subject." _An' I can tell by watching. Gimmie a little credit here. _"Didn't you say you met some Magical World people a while back, an' stole onea their tricks? Same difference. Just like me Firebendin' – power's power, just a question a' how you use it."

She grimaced. "It's not _quite_ that simple, Ranma." He shrugged in response, and she continued. "And besides, 'power is power' doesn't even hold for all the stuff you do, or have you managed to figure out Akane's hammer trick, or Mousse's hidden weapons?"

"All right, all right, you made your point." _I think I know why I can't duplicate Akane's hammer-summoning, but I ain't gotta work around yet. As fer t' hidden weapons, I just ain't quite cracked it, an' Mousse ain't comin' out ta fight much anymore. Makes it hard ta learn from him._

"And as for that conference" Usagi continued, "I didn't like that much."

Ranma didn't know much about the event – the phrase 'Need To Know Basis' had quickly become entrenched among his most hated – but he knew that the Senshi had been asked to show that Japan wasn't all backwards and non-magical. "Didn't think they'd been rude about it. Mosta' the folk I know from there're decent sorts."

"They weren't rude," she sighed. "It's just.. Mostly, I didn't like the Magical World itself. Something about that place... it cut all of us off from a lot of our power."

"Ah. I get whatcha mean." He grimaced, remembering the Ultimate Weakness Moxibustion. "Even if you ain't expectin' a fight, it sucks bein' powerless." A moment's thought. "Was it the place in general, or somethin' special they had on the meetin' place?"

"Ami and Setsuna looked into that. The answer was long, too technical for me, and seemed to boil down to 'yes.'"

"Ain't they so informative when they start on t' jargon?"

"Oh yes. So. First class is tomorrow night?"

"Yep. T' time we discussed a couple days back." A pause. "Should I expect ya ta come as yourself or... like this?"

Usagi glanced at herself a moment, self-consciously. "Well, it's not exactly a secret that you've worked with us before. And if this is a professional thing, they should be polite, right? I'll come as me." She glanced at her watch. "And now I have to get back to the Arcade. Mamoru and I have plans for the evening, he's picking me up."

"You two have fun."

Oo0

Ranma was lost in thought, working his way absently through kata, when he felt something mystic touch the Dojo's wards. The sensation – it'd been a while since he'd last felt it, but it was distinct – jolted him out of his revere. It'd been a long day; he'd gotten lots accomplished, but a long day nonetheless. And now something mystic was taking a poke at the place.

"Aston, if this is one'a your people tryin' ta bother me, I may have ta hurt ya," Ranma muttered. There was a second poke at the wards. Now paying attention, Ranma realized it was coming from somewhere close to the main door. He stalked in that direction, shrouding himself in the Umi Sen Ken.

Then something unexpected happened. Somebody gave a polite knock at the door. Ranma paused in the hallway. Someone trying to attack would probably not knock. Still hidden, he quickly walked to the door, looked through the fisheye.

Standing in front of the dojo was a woman he'd not seen before. She was gaijin, tall and blonde, wearing robes in a style he vaguely recognized but couldn't place. Incongruously, there were half a dozen assorted shopping bags in one hand, dangling by their handles. And at this proximity, she made his scars itch – a mage of some kind.

Ranma stepped back from the fisheye, thought for a moment. _Magical world, maybe? Could catch hell if she is... mind, if she just hangs out in front, that'll draw the spies' eyes, too and get me just as much trouble... An' I can't place the robes anyway. Plausible deniability. An' whatever else, she don't seem hostile – she poked t' wards and then backed off, didn't try ta force her way in._

_ Oh, t' hell with it._ He let the Umi Sen Ken drop away, pulled the door open. "Good evenin,' miss. How c'n I help you?"

Her expression, a neutral smile, bloomed into something that looked like pure joy. Unlike the spies he'd run into lately, the expression reached her eyes. It seemed to take her a moment to find her voice. "Wheah are mah manners? Mah name is Kendra Zendor, good suh. Ah've come a long way t' talk to you, Ranma Saotome." A slight blush as she gestured to the shopping bags. "This city has many distractions, but ah made it in t' end."

A faint alarm began to ring in the back of Ranma's mind. "Ooh... kay. What do you want?"

"Why, to find you, suh! And t' be married!" She lept at him, aiming for a tackle-glomp.

He sidestepped it, resisted the urge to swear, and ground out, "Why do you think you could marry me?"

She picked herself up off the floor, looking a bit hurt that he'd not caught her. "Wha, yoah father promised me yoah hand."

Fury welled up in him, and for an instant, his battle aura flared. Ranma cut it off sharply. _Control, Ranma, control._ "My father does not speak for me in these matters. Not any more."

Her expression turned brittle. "But... yoah father..."

"Genma Saotome and I are no longer on speaking terms, and that honorless rat cannot make promises on my behalf."

"But... no, he's yoah father. Ah thought t' way families worked in this country... if he said you'd wed someone, you'd have ta."

"He's pledged me to at _least_ two other familes. There is no honor their." _Oh kamis, she looks like I just strangled a puppy in front of her..._ "I'm sorry. You've come... _Damn bugs, if I mention the Magical World I'm gonna be in a universe of trouble come morning... _"Very far, I'm sure. What bill'd he stiff ya on? I'll cover it. Not as much of a louse as he is."

"Bill... he... ah..." Kendra took a moment to compose herself. "T' price of ah night's lodgin.'"

"At least he's consistently cheap," Ranma muttered. Then, louder, "What were ya gonna charge him?"

"One hundred gold pieces."

Ranma did a bit of math. "Don't think I have the yen on hand fer that. I'll cut ya a cheque." He started back to the office.

The mage had collected herself, and followed a few steps behind him. "Ah must ask, good suh, even if yoah father's word ain't enough with you, somethin' ah'd have ta _talk_ ta him about... You say yoah heart is yoah own. Ah can accept that. But... even w'out an oath involved, is theah a way..."

_Oh. Kuso. She has it _bad. _Now what? _Ranma couldn't think of a fair response to that.

"Ah.. Ah mean..." she was sounding uneasy now, she had the look of someone thinking hard; considering and discarding statement after statement, picking her words with care. "Is theah any way... you'd considah me? Ah feel... Ah've felt foah years... t'at t' two of us are _destined _foah each otha."

_Kuso. _Ranma sat back at his desk, looking up from his hasty conversion equations. He gave Kendra a long, evaluating look. She was hardly at her best at the moment, looking a bit frazzled despite her best effort to keep herself collected. A bit sheltered, by his guess, and kamis alone knew how she'd heard enough about him to fall in love in the Magical World. A decently powerful mage, by his estimation, and one who seemed fairly intelligent. She was showing fairly good control now, even when he'd surprised her, it had thrown her, but not so badly as it might have.

But he'd never met the woman before; and, frankly, he already had too many women in his life. And given he was under orders to _not_ mix with Magical Worlders... Time to try and evade. "I'm not sure how much you've heard of me," he began slowly, "But before this conversation goes any further I think I should mention that I suffer from a particular curse..."

"Ah know of yoah womanly charms," she said, trying to sound calm, but the handles of her shopping bags twisted in her hands, belying her words. "Ah'm not some puritan, suh, and ah think it only adds to yoah appeal."

_So much for an easy out. _"Well, that's... different." Ranma paused, tried to find the right words. "Miss Zendor, you're an interesting lady. I'm bettin' you've got t' skills to back up your power, an' I respect that. But I got no truck wi' t' idea of destiny, an' there's already too many women I care about in my life." A pause. "I ain't gonna lie. You deserve better than that; since Pops sold ya a load, you deserve way better."

"But the best I can give ya is my honest word. I'm not interested. I'm sorry." He finished writing the cheque, held it to her before meeting her eyes again.

The face he looked into was the face of a woman shattered. Her gaze was one of horrified loss. The kind of devastation he'd seen on the faces of survivors of the Battle of Tokyo, realizing homes and families were gone. Her thousand-yard-stare flowed around him. Her knees buckled, and he moved, getting a chair under her.

"You got a place to crash fer the night? I can call a cab, getcha to a hotel if you need it."

"Ah.." her voice was a cracked, hollow version of what it had been. "Ah can get home jus' fine. Ah... Ah thank you foah yoah honesty, suh..." Woodenly, she stood, walked towards the door. "Ah will trouble you no moah, tonight." She exited, and Ranma watched her walk half a block, before vanishing in a flash of royal purple light.

"Well, that coulda gone better," Ranma muttered. He felt like a louse, hurting the poor lady so badly. Another victim of his father's lies.

_I've let this crap go on too long. I'm makin' too many excuses ta put it off. I needa change that._

_

* * *

_

Kendra Zendor wept. She had held her composure long enough to return to her sanctum sanctorum. There, she had lost control, raging for hours. Genma Saotome, unwillingly still her guest, had suffered for his lies. But eventually, her rage had ebbed, flames burned down to embers, and she had fallen into tears. She shook with sobs, now, wandering the halls of her sanctorum.

Finally, she found herself before her shrine. She opened it, stared, red eyed, at the images of Saotome. How could he deny her? How could he so casually discard her? How could he deny their destiny? They _were _destined for each other, she knew it beyond any doubt. How could he deny that they were perfect for each other; defiers of their cultural biases and standards; visionaries both.

No, there was no way he could deny her, not honestly, not on his own – _surely _the man she loved would be able to see those truths! The gods could not have so misled her!

Something, or some_one_, must be clouding his mind.

She opened the second door of her shrine, looked within. Where the one side, the main portion of the shrine, held images of her beloved, placed with love and care, this side held her rivals. The men and women who sought his heart in either form, ragged edges, impaled by bits of barbed wire, athames, and black iron nails. Ukyo Kuonji, Shampoo, the siblings Kuno, Akane Tendo, Ryoga Hibiki. Half a dozen others who had pursued him over the years.

Voice thick with tears and hate, she looked upon those who had snared her beloved. "One of you has cast a vile spell on mah Ranma Saotome tah keep him from me. Ah will find out who, and Ah will _end_ you."


	6. Chapter Five

_Insert Standard Disclaimer Here_

Chapter Five

Ranma was surprised when he heard a knock at his door at quarter to five in the morning. He'd expected to at least get through his morning warmups before trouble showed. A glance through the fisheye showed Lieutenant Ito, and a couple other officer types he didn't recognize, including one in the uniform of the Tokyo PD. _Knew I'd probably catch it for that mess last night. Might as well get this over with._

He pulled open the door. "Mornin' Lieutenant. How can I help you?"

"There was an incident last night, and we need your expertise."

_That... don't quite sound like what I thought this'd be. _"What happened?"

The Tokyo PD officer stepped forward. "Something tore apart the Kuno estate in Nerima. Kodachi and Tatewaki are both missing, several of their retainers are dead or badly injured, and the only one who could talk to us was talking about magic."

There was a long moment of silence. "I'll grab my coat."

* * *

"Well, I'm officially impressed. Whoever did this had some serious power ta throw around."

"Any idea of who?" Lieutenant Ito was watching his footing carefully as the two of them strode into the rubble-choked devastation that used to be the Kuno's front entry. There was a ragged hole in the front of the house where the door and its frame had been, more holes in the walls, and the staircase leading to the upper floors had been shattered. The carpet _squish_ed underfoot in an unnerving way.

Ranma paused, pushed his ki into the room. The place was thick with residual ki; feeling like the Kunos and half a dozen others he didn't know so well, probably their staff. There was a lot of emotions attached to it, mania, fear, and anger predominant among them. They all overlapped; which made sense: the Kuno household was one of passion and energy – conditions to inspire strong emotional ki all the time, even in people as clueless as the siblings themselves or as stoic as the sort of ninja they tended to hire. Overlaying the... freshest... signs was a wash of residual magic. From what he had learned of the stuff in the last few years, the magic, too, was heavily charged – or perhaps tainted – with emotions, but between the mass of ki traces and the strangeness of the magic itself, he could get little out of it.

"I can't tell. Too much of a... muddle here. Too much stuff ta pick through." He shook his head. "From the size 'a the craters an' t' amount of magic floatin' around, I think it's safe ta say they ain't on the weak side." A shrug. "Can't pin anything down."

"That's helpful," said Ito, voice very bland.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Investigatin' crime scenes ain't exactly my trade, boss. Might help if I knew what you'd found, overall."

"Three dead bodies, extensive damage, and four wounded. One of the wounded was a bystander who got hit by flying debris. Several small swords, a bokken snapped in half, assorted clubs, rings, and throwing irons, all coated in poison. Oh, and a six foot tall Venus Flytrap in a greenhouse in back."

"The Venus Flytrap is supposed to be here, I think. I know 'Dachi was tryin' ta grow one, anyway. Rest of it sounds like, well, the stuff the guys who live here would use ta defend themselves."

"Implying that whoever did this didn't leave anything behind. Ideas?"

"Nothin' jumps out at me." He took another look around the entry with his ki. "Well, if it helps, it don't feel like Youma or Mazoku work."

"Something we can cross off the list, at least," muttered Inspector Kaga behind him.

Ranma tried not to sound defensive. "Sorry; best I c'n do right now."

The three men together walked deeper into the building, surveying the damage. Ranma's expression, already unhappy, got downright dour as he looked over blood spatters and burned patches of the walls. "Surprised it didn't burn down," he muttered.

"It seems the family didn't skimp on its sprinkler system. The basement's a small lake." Kaga sounded frustrated. "I hate this. No evidence we can use to pin it down, just dead bodies and destruction. The department's spook chaser told me about the same thing you did." Kaga gave Ranma a look that implied this was a great insult. "He figured you might know more."

"Sorry ta disappoint. You might get better luck callin' on t' Senshi. Usagi's in town, an' she's got a lot more practical knowledge."

Kaga grimaced. "I asked. There's an issue of jurisdiction, and some departmental squabbles."

Ranma blinked slowly. "Okay, can you run that past me slower? I'm just a dumb martial artist, an' I don't get where the issue is."

Kaga and Ito exchanged a long look, then the Inspector shrugged. "Basically? Funding. If the police can't deal with supernatural crimes with its own traditional resources, including the normal sort of outside contractors we'd bring in for strange cases, some other outfit will probably be created to deal with it instead. Bringing you in is reasonable, since you've worked as a contractor for the city before."

"An' the Senshi don't do that."

"And the Senshi don't do contract work. I've been forbidden to go outside the usual channels. It's a situation where department politics are making it harder for me to do my job. I _hate_ politics."

Ranma made an agreeing noise. Politics screwed with _everything._ "Then I _definitely_ won't make the other suggestion that came ta mind."

Ito gave him an inquiring look.

"My 'special class.'"

Ito blanched. After a long moment, he found his voice. "You're right. Bringing in the Bureau would be even less acceptable." Kaga, realizing what he'd been suggesting, glared at Ranma with renewed fervor.

Ranma shrugged. "Again, dumb martial artist thinkin' about ways ta solve it without caring about politics." The glare grew stronger, and he wilted slightly. "Sorry I mentioned it." A pause. "Who's the 'department spook chaser,' anyway?"

"Hikaru Gosunkugi."

"Voodoo Spike went through with his plan? Huh. Didn't think he'd make it in t' police."

Kaga grunted. "He's not very professional, but he seems eager enough just to have his skills appreciated." A shrug. "I'm happy enough to have someone who knows about this mystic crap, even if he _is_ an overgrown otaku." The inspector's voice descended into incoherent grumbles.

There was a brief silence. "Why don't you look the rest of the place over, see if anything else leaps out to you," said Ito.

"Sure, Lieutenant."

* * *

Ranma toured the building, taking in everything. Ito followed him as best he could, delayed only shortly when the martial artist moved to the second floor. Where Ranma had hopped up, Ito had grabbed a ladder. As he finished his survey, Ranma looked to his superior. "Was there somethin' you wanted to ask, Lieutenant?"

"We're in your area of expertise, Saotome." He took a glance around, assuring himself that nobody else was in earshot. "You're sure you have no idea who did this?"

"Well, I know a couple mages who could pull this off, but none of 'em have any serious beef with t' Kunos, so far as I know. An' most of 'em don't like to kill. Plus the collateral damage. This is... mosta t' mages I know who _could_ pull this off ain't this sloppy."

"And your... guest last night?"

Ranma looked away. "Was wondering when you were gonna get to that." He took a moment to gather his words. "I tried not ta let anythin' slip that you wouldn't want t' spies to hear."

"The screaming hasn't died down about that in the office, but I know there wasn't much else you could have done. Personally, I've read the PSIA's transcript. You should be fine; nothing provable got said."

The aquatransexual sighed in relief. "Glad ta hear it. Dunno how else I coulda dealt with it." A shrug. "Honestly? No idea if Zendor did this. I don't know exactly powerful she is, or how she fights, or if she even knows who the Kunos are. It's possible, but I just don't know." A pause. "My gut says no. She seemed... too broken up for something this directed, even if I knew she'd be the sort ta cut loose on someone."

"Well, fair enough. And please, keep this discrete. I know you've had troubles with the Kuno family in the past..."

"It won't be a factor. I ain't so dumb as I was. An' nobody deserves ta have this happen to 'em."

"Good. I'll let the Inspector know."

"Thanks. If you think it'll help, let him know I understand his bein' worried about the politic'ing. Seen enough o' that shoved around t' last couple years ta know how dumb it can be. An' I'll keep my ear ta the ground, see if anything gets talked about."

"I'll pass that on."

* * *

Gosunkugi found him shortly thereafter. The last few years had been good for him; he'd hit his growth spurt – Ranma, annoyingly, had to look up to meet his eyes – even if he hadn't picked up much bulk. The leather duster he wore didn't help, being too large. The way it hung on him made him look even scrawnier. _I'd bet anything he wears it ta look like a 'proper' detective, an' he'd be smokin' if he was outside._

"Kaga says you came up empty?"

"More like I found too much stuff." Ranma sighed. "There's plenty a' residual ki here, an' traces of magic on top of it... way too much ta sort through."

"Oh come on. You can filter through the Senshi, can't you? If they're half as obvious to ki as they are to magic, that should make this sort of thing easy."

"There's a _lot_ of cruft ta sort through here, Gos. An' a lot of it's... Heavy's probably the closest word for it. Lots of people here who were scared or hurting or just really really emotional. Leaves its mark."

The otaku sighed. "That's more or less what the Loa told me. So much for hitting the problem from another angle."

"Worth a shot. Not like this' an exact science."

A pause. "Yeah. Well, you said you'd keep your ear to the ground. If you hear anything, call me after you call the Inspector, okay? They don't always keep me in the loop yet."

"Sure. You return the favour?" He waited for Gosunkugi to nod. "Then I guess I'll catch ya later. I got way too much ta take care of today."

O_0

_They look way, way too normal to be aliens,_ thought Michael Jones as he gave Staff Sergeant Tomas Aston and company a casual look. "So, you guys look like you had a... festive night."

They were sitting in the hotel's combination bar/lounge. Somehow, the Bureau had put up their little squad in the same hotel as the Agency had picked for him. Hell, probably because it was both cheap and the closest hotel to the Dojo; the same reason he was here.

Aston turned a hung-over looking smile his way. "We were out a bit later than we should've been, yes. Looked 'round the town, exploring."

"Drinking," added Kal McLaron, "I don't know what that sake stuff is made from, but it really sneaks up on you." He looked into his glass of hangover cure – the hotel's private recipe; Michael hadn't tried it, but his nose told him there was some wasabi and black pepper added to the tomato juice, undoubtedly with a few other, less savory, items.

The CIA agent nodded. "It does that."

Kal took a long pull at the concoction, which resulted in spluttering coughs. "Sankt Kaiser, this is nasty. Why in the hells did I decide to get in a drinking contest with that marine last night?"

Aston, who didn't look much better, answered, "Because Corpsman Harrison, and I quote, 'looked like a lightweight.'"

"Sarge, it was a hypothetical question."

"I know."

"So with all due respect, sergeant, please shut up. My head hurts too much for this."

"Drink your juice."

Kal muttered something that sounded vaguely obscene.

Beside him, Dai Maller, head laid on the bartop, muttered, "Kal, why can't you just be nice to t' sergeant? It's too early for ya to be this loud."

Kia muttered agreement from further down the bar, where she was giving picking at a bowl of rice. Then, "Stop arguing with him, Kal. Please just wake up enough to heal us."

Aston turned to Michael. "Typical, isn't it? They only support me when they need something. Normally it's just 'Tommy this' and 'Tommy that.' But when they _need _me, it's 'just listen to the boss.'

Ingratiates."

"The very reason I like to work alone. So. What brings you folks to Tokyo? You have the look of, ahem, out of towners." _I've seen green hair before, but I somehow doubt Dai's is out of a bottle._

Kal held his nose and drained the glass. After a grimacing swallow, he coughed and said, "Higher said jump. We, being dutiful little soldiers, replied 'how high?'" A small, green circle of runes appeared before him, and he muttered an incantation. A green nimbus shrouded his hand for a moment, which he applied to his forehead. When it cleared, he continued, looking and sounding like he was in much better shape. "We're here for an experiment with a local. Damnfool idea. But what can you do?" He repeated the healing trick on Kia and Dai. "Yourself?"

"Training trip," replied Jones, feeling an unprofessional urge towards honesty. It wasn't like he'd be able to hide who he was come the evening's classes.

Aston gave his subordinate a look. "Am I going to get a dose of healing next, Kal?"

"In a while."

"Kal..."

"Suffer."

Aston sighed. "Bartender, I think I'll take some of that hangover cure."

Dai smiled. "Why not get some of... what's the local phrase... 'the hair of the dog that bit you?'"

"Because I have a feeling that showing up for Saotome's class hung over will be an invitation for pain. Unlike you, I've sparred with him." The bartender provided a glass of the dubious tomato-juice based beverage, and Aston drained it in one go. "Sankt Kaiser, that's almost as bad as my father's recipe... Anyway. I've sparred with him, _and_ I've seen him fight when he's serious. I'm not going to piss him off."

Jones' curiosity burned, but after a brief internal debate, he decided against it. It wouldn't do to seem too curious. _And I'll probably learn more, at first at least, by keeping my ears open and my mouth shut._

He leaned back and listened to the byplay between the squad-mates. _If nothing else, they seem very, very human. This should be interesting._

_

* * *

_

_ This must be the place we heard about, _said Kal as the four of them walked through the Nerima district.

A report of a 'strange magical incident' had come down from the embassy, and while they hadn't been asked to assist, Higher wanted them to take a look and see if there was anything they needed to be concerned about there. Thus, as they waited for the day to go by, they 'just happened' to wander by as they looked around this strange and fascinating city.

_Yeah, between the police tape and the craters, it has the look._

_ Find somewhere inconspicuous and start scrying._

_ Got it, Sergeant._

They fanned out and tried to look casual as Kal started on his specialty. _Damn, they have some weird stuff in vending machines here. This city isn't the weirdest one I've ever seen, but it certainly has its moments._

_ Can it, Dai, no distractions._

_ Sorry, sarge._

Kal had just barely gotten to scrying when a police officer walked up to the group. "Gentlemen, and lady, I'm going to have to ask you to clear the area."

"Ah, of course, officer." _Let's not make a scene. _Astontried to look helpful, co-operative, and harmless. "Just, ah, seeing the sights."

"I understand," said the policeman with a very patient smile on his face. "But I'm still going to have to ask you to leave. The Tokyo police are handling this situation, and outside interference is not desired or needed."

Aston swallowed the urge to snap something back, raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I understand, officer. We'll just move along."

_Are we seriously just folding on this?_

_ We're technically guests. I'll kick this to Higher. We'll see what they have to say._

0_O

The day had started early for Ranma, and had proceeded at a breakneck pace. Bond and LaFleur had both been waiting at the door when he made it back from the Kuno's, making not terribly casual small talk. They had, he gathered, a bit of a history and plenty of mutual annoyance. And neither wanted to talk about it. At least the Quebecois hadn't started back on his fake accent.

They'd both wanted to know why he was late, and had at least accepted his reply of 'local business.' He wondered if they'd be poking into the situation. And how much hell he'd catch if they did.

Seeing Marceau going through some basic ki-training had surprised the hell out of James Bond, which had been amusing. Their verbal sniping got a bit nastier, though not so nasty that Ranma figured he'd have to break it up. He still wasn't quite sure he'd figured out these spy-types. Ranma'd lost count, over the years, of the number of times Mousse or Ryoga had declared their intention of killing him. He suspected that, if Bond or LaFleur said something similar, they'd mean it a _lot_ more.

The lesson went well enough. Bond brought a bloodyminded enthusiasm that made him a surprisingly good student. For his part, LaFleur, while still seeming a bit conflicted about his newly realized abilities(Ranma never really understood that reaction, but he'd seen it too many times to doubt its genuineness.) seemed game enough, though he seemed to have trouble focusing his ki consciously. Ranma wasn't sure where the problem lay – if it was a 'don't think of purple elephants' situation, or simply a difficulty thinking seriously about ki. He'd seen something similar from another student who had a mindset that denied the supernatural. The guy had been a frustrating student, but eventually they'd made a breakthrough. Then he'd quit the training. Apparently, being able to reproduce it was all he'd needed for his thesis on 'Ki and Biological Science.'

_That_ had been a really frustrating day.

That lesson had ended soon enough – Ranma asked one of them to let Jones know that if he wanted to blend in properly with the class, he'd better show up for some extra instruction – and he moved on to his regular classes. Mixed in with that, he got a genuinely annoying number of calls. Ito, the Inspector, Gos... at least Gosunkugi had the decency to time his call to be between classes. He'd done a bit more poking around and thinking, and wanted to run some theories across Ranma. The two had bounced ideas off each other for most of an hour, and he'd had to rush to make it to his next class. It was a bit frustrating – he'd missed several calls in the process, which he'd had to make up catch-as-can between classes – but at least it felt like he was contributing to the investigation.

He didn't much like the Kunos, but it wouldn't do to let some mage think they could trash on homes and families in his town with impunity.

He was still scrambling when the last regular class of the day finished off. When Akane and Usagi arrived half an hour before the special class was due to start, he threw his hands up and decided to let the rest of it stew until tomorrow.

"You look... frazzled," said Usagi as he emerged from his office.

"You okay, Ranma?" Akane sounded concerned.

He considered for a moment just giving an airy wave and denying any reason for concern. _Not fer these two. They deserve better. _"Been runnin' around all day. I can hack it, though. Might need a little more help from ya than I'd planned on, tonight, but it should be doable."

"Last minute prep for the class, or the thing with the Kunos?" Akane asked.

"Both. At least I managed to get ready fer t' class." A pause. _Oh what the hell. By now, if the various spooks in the city _don't_ know about the incident, they're total incompetents. _"Anything interesting going around t' streets about that, or just crazy rumors?"

"Mostly crazy rumors. Did whoever attacked really kill all their serving staff?"

"Nah, most of 'em wound up in t' hospital." He glanced to Usagi. No reason he couldn't pass anything she said on as a tip, even if they wouldn't bring her in directly. "You happen to swing by?"

"I did, but... well, I'm not that good at scrying, and the police were trying to make everyone keep moving. And I didn't really have that much time."

"Eh, fair enough. Let's get warmed up an' ready ta rock."

0_O

Marceau LaFleur sucked at a split knuckle. _Tabarnak. Why the hell is this so hard? I can do it when I'm _not_ trying, so why can't I make it happen on my own? _He glared at the heavy bag in the hotel's gym like it had done him grievous injury. Bashing up his knuckles didn't count, really. Especially since he'd decided to go without gloves on his own; hoping he'd manage to 'ki' himself up out of sheer defensive reflex.

Breathing heavily from exertion, LaFleur stepped back up to the heavy bag. _I'm not letting this beat me. There has to be a way to do this. Saotome's almost twenty years my junior and he can do it._

_ Saotome was in training from the age of five by people who could beat you with one hand tied behind their backs, and he didn't spend most of his life learning tradecraft and assorted other useful infiltration skills. Mother always complained you wasted your talents by not going into music, who knows what you could have done if you hadn't gone into the trade._

He blinked slowly, and muttered, "Who are you, my own personal greek chorus?"

_Your inner devil's advocate. And if you think not mastering his trade instantly is annoying, think about how useless captain oblivious would be on an op. He'd probably decide to cut out all that annoying sneaking around and just walk up to someone and ask questions._

Marceau snorted. "Clearly, I am way too tired if I'm hearing voices. Especially if they're making sense." Looking at the clock, he guessed that he had time to get cleaned up and grab a bite before the night's class started. He was actually looking forward to it, both from a 'let's get the job started' standpoint, and a desire to get a handle on this blasted ki thing.

"I wonder where I'd be if I'd been doing the sort of training he did from childhood," he mused in the shower. _Probably not as good as Ranma is. But if I DID have a chance to build myself a harem, I wouldn't try to get out of it like he does, the prude. _He smirked. _Mind, I'dve picked my ladies better. Ones without unpleasant grandmothers trying to meddle and condemn. _He remembered the _look_ Shampoo's grandmother(or great grandmother, his Chinese was rather poor) had given him when he'd escorted the young woman back to the Cat Cafe. An equal vote against the Chinese girl had been the lad who'd arrived at the door as he was walking off, who somehow had managed to conceal a _greatsword_ in simple looking sleeves and an apron, and had fixed him with a frankly murderous expression.

He was hurrying on the way to the dojo, wolfing down something sweet, starchy, and deep fried from a street vendor as he went. Getting his blood-sugar up helped, at least, and by the time he arrived, he felt almost alert enough for the job at hand. Showtime.

* * *

Dai smirked as Michael Jones walked into the dojo in sweats. _Called it,_ he Sent to his squadmates.

_Yes, you did,_ responded Aston. _But let's not get all obnoxious about this. Eyes and ears open, people, and try to remember that we're here for combat training as much as anything else._ They were stretching and warming up, following Ranma's lead. His assistants for this – they recognized Usagi Tsukino from the files, and he'd introduced the other woman as Akane Tendo.

_ These guys'll be a total joke. _Kia's mental voice held a mix of amusement and disgust. _I'm not getting so much as a glimmer of power from this 'LaFleur' person, and I didn't from Michael earlier._

_ Let's see what Saotome has in mind before we get too incised about this._

Dai could tell she was preparing for a snarky comeback when the door opened again, admitting a craggy-faced man about Aston's height. There was something slightly odd about him, but Maller couldn't put his finer on it. In a deep voice, with _yet another _weird accent – this world seemed to produce more accents than anything else, it seemed – said, "Sorry for being late, Sensei."

Ranma glanced over. "Technically, we still got a minute'r two. Yer fine, Bond."

Kia gave the newcomer a look and made a strange sound.

_You okay there, Rio?_

_ J-just fine. There's something about this guy..._

James Bond started stretching, moving towards the group as he did. "Good evening," he said to them, smiling, a glint in his pale blue eyes. "Always good to meet fellow students of the fighting arts." He turned that smile on Kia, who was – Sankt Kaiser, she was _blushing. _Kia prided herself on being a tough gal, she _never_ blushed.

Dai, Kal, and Tomas watched in a sort of strange fascination as she stuck out a hand and suttered, "Ah- likewise! Kia Rio, TSAB Marines."

Bond took the outstretched hand, lifted it, and lightly kissed it. Kia's blush grew almost luminescent. "A pleasure. My name is Bond, James Bond."

Ranma cleared his throat, shot Bond a look. "Can we get started now, leave the flirting for later?"

"But of course, Sensei." A nod at Kia, eyes still a twinkle. "Perhaps we'll have a chance to chat later."

"Oh-okay," she stammered.

_Kia? You all right? _Aston sounded concerned.

_Fine, fine. No problem._

_ ...Well then. Mind on task, private._

Ranma moved out to the center of the Dojo. "Let's get this started. Marceau, Michael, James; meet Tomas, Kal, Dai, and Kia. We're going to be workin' together fer the next few weeks, so let's try ta keep it friendly. On that note, Marceau, James, I know yer both armed-style users, but at least fer the next few, I want ta make sure the sparrin' _stays_ friendly."

"Drop t' weapons, oui?" Marceau. Yet _another_ damnable accent. What _was_ it with this planet?

"On the table, yeah. An' in the spirit of making tonight low impact and such, Tom?"

"You want us to drop our Devices for this round?"

"Yeah. Wanna find out whatcha can do without 'em, get a baseline."

_I'd be lying if I said I was fond of the idea, but I can see where he's coming from. We should be able to keep a translation up without 'em. _Aston's mental voice sounded even less happy than his words implied, but, Dai, unfortunately, could also see the point. No grounds to argue about it. He nodded his agreement.

Ranma gestured them all to the water table. Marceau produced a small knife from his sleeve, and pulled one with some kind of split-folding handle from a back pocket. Bond produced a few innocuous looking items, a knuckleduster, and a small handful of dull, brassy things. Ranma pointedly cleared his throat at them. A few more items went on the pile, Marceau pausing to give a theatrical sigh first. Dai didn't even see where they'd stashed them. Impressive, really.

Dai placed Carabin Grasp down gently, a bit away from the two probable-spies' piles. Brass Claw, Morninglight, and Violet Mark all went down next to it. "So, now what happens?"

"We find out what everyone can do. Some quick sparrin,' we'll rotate everyone around. Lotsa different fightin' styles here. Usagi can heal, but that's no excuse ta get sloppy. Keep this friendly, gang. Kal, I'll start with you, everyone else pair off."

Dai glanced around. _Usagi's at least a SS+ from her file, I'm not feeling THAT lucky today. Who do I wanna dance with first? Maybe that Bond guy? See what he's got before he tries to get to Kia?_

The question was answered for him when Marceau stepped up. "'Allo there. We seem to be running out of possible partners."

Another glance confirmed it. "Guess we are. Dai Maller."

"Marceau LaFleur." The gangly man gave slight bow and slid into some kind of fighting stance. Trying to remember as much of his basic hand to hand training as possible, Dai did the same. Banishing a wave of jitters spawned by _oh Sankt Kaiser trying to fight without my magic_ he decided to come out swinging, feinting high and lashing out with a kick. Marceau blocked it, then slipped inside his guard and planted him on his ass with a punch he didn't even see coming.

_This is gonna be a long night_.

* * *

The lesson, all things considered, actually went fairly well. Akane was glad she'd agreed to help, she rather enjoyed learning from other fighting styles and adding to her own. The extra yen didn't hurt either. Kia, Kal, and Dai all used a basic but solid enough style, Tomas used a similar one, but augmented by 'years worth of practice and dirty tricks.' He was skilled, but not really fast enough to push her. Well, not after he managed to drop her to the mat once, and she started to take him seriously.

Michael Jones had the same problem with her as he'd had with Shampoo: his technique was heavy on grappling, and while he was taller and heavier, it wasn't nearly enough to compensate for her greater strength. But he took it in good humor, and listened to both her and Ranma's tips. Marceau pulled out a few new tricks, and asked a lot of questions about ki. She wasn't as good at explaining it as Ranma, but another perspective, the Canadian said, helped anyway.

James Bond... Well, James Bond was a good test of her control. A small part of her was impressed with the way he'd more or less weaponized flirting, because he could use it to get under her skin easily, and distract her. On some level, she found him sort of attractive, but not terribly. There was a... skeevyness to him, especially since she'd seen him use those same flirty lines on Kia (Who'd eaten them up until Ranma told him to put a cork in it) and Usagi (Who had reacted much as she herself did). But for the most part she just found him really, really annoying. His technique was average, a mix of several styles from what she could see, augmented by lots of dirty tricks and, she had to admit, good instincts for things to capitalize on, if far too little speed to really leverage it against her. But his constant flirting and innuendo... She restrained herself, and settled for kicking his butt, repeatedly.

And ignoring his comments that implied he _liked _that.

Other than that, though, it was a good night, and she had a feeling that the Bureau people were really eager to learn, and that between them, they'd managed a bit of nice teaching.

Eventually, they reached Usagi's part of the lesson. The marines grabbed their Devices, and in the spirit of fairness, the spies recovered their weapons. For tonight, the non-mages were mostly watching the mages (Akane lead the spies through some drills and kata for their chosen weapons) as Usagi and the Marines had an increasingly impenetrable conversation about magic that was thankfully broken up by occasional demonstrations and some powered sparring.

Then one last round of sparring, and she'd learned that Dai was much, much better when he was using his magic, with a dramatically different style – he used very little of his hand to hand skills, but rather tried to open the distance and zap away. If she could stay in hand-to-hand range he was in trouble, but while Dai couldn't fly, he was quite decently fast. They'd split that round, him dropping her twice, her dropping him three times, and truth to tell she was looking forward to the next class after. "I've seen what you can do, now, mister Maller. I can deal with it, now."

"Then I'll just have to come up with some new tricks," he'd replied, with his jaunty grin.

O_0

"Okay, Two of us being in the same hotel had to be a co-incidence. All of us? That's just crazy." Dai had an expression that just _oozed_ 'I am fishing for information.'

"Well, I'm here because it's cheap and close to the Dojo. Thus, it was a logical choice, and I figure that's why we all, or in your cases, your bosses, decided to go with it." Michael Jones' mind was racing. Information overload, and it wasn't even all the sort of thing he was _supposed _to be concentrating on. Usagi, and her faintly glowing silver hair, had left an impression.

"Nice to know we _all_ work for cheapskates," said Dai. "So what cheapskates do you guys work for?"

Aston dope-slapped him, shot him a _look_, though he didn't say anything aloud.

Dai gave an incredulous look back, Kal sighed and shook his head. _It must be nice to be telepathic._

Kia didn't say anything to him; she was too busy flirting nervously with Bond. Not for the first time, Michael Jones shook his head in wonder for how effortlessly Bond seemed to be able to seduce some women. It wasn't foolproof – it hadn't worked on Tendo or Tsukino(Indeed, it had backfired completely with the Tendo girl, who had looked like she was getting ready to break him in half but restraining herself, and he was limping now from some of her hits.)

"Amusing conversation we're being left out of, I t'ink," said Marceau.

"Sorry," said Aston. "Just trying to deal with my perennial discipline problem."

"Fair enough. But is it really so 'ard to believe we are not 'ere on our own?"

Aston shot Dai a preemptive 'shut up' look, then said, "Doesn't really matter. We've got plenty of other stuff to take care of."

_Oh yeah, they've got us figured. I _knew_ we'd be spotted instantly. And I'm betting the insult has registered. Damn it boss..._

_ "_Well, that's fair enough." They were nearing the hotel now. "See you in the morning?"

"Sure."


	7. Chapter Six

_Disclaimer: Still don't own these worlds and characters; and I'm not trying to claim them. Please don't sue_

Chapter Six

James Bond stood slowly, stretching tortured muscles. "Note to self," he muttered, "In the future, don't aggravate female martial artists." Where Ranma Saotome had proved less temperamental than his files had suggested, Akane Tendo was every bit as touchy as her file indicated. She also hit _bloody hard, _and he had the _distinct_ impression she'd been holding back. Still, he'd gotten some useful first-stage intelligence, and made a positive impression on one of the Bureau agents.

He'd be liaising with Kia Rio in more… intimate depth later.

He briefly debated on room service, but ultimately decided that he'd probably do better to get up and get moving, rather than let himself stiffen up again. Oh, he was sore. It'd been a while... and he'd probably be in for another round of pain in the evening's class. Sparring with Aston when the marine wasn't using his magic was one thing – indeed, he'd done quite well; the mage's talent for dirty tricks did not exceed his own – but when he'd picked up his Device? The ensuing match had been swift.

Though to be fair, he had an idea or two about how to counter some of his tricks. If nothing else, Q assured him that the special loads he'd been issued for his Walther would penetrate shield spells, though he rather hoped it didn't come to something like that. He rather liked this lot. Aston in particular was his sort of bastard.

O_0

"Well, Higher got in touch with me," said Aston as they waited for breakfast – the 'house special' of this little okonomiyaki joint all around.

"Are we looking into that magic thing down in Nerima then?"

Aston shook his head. "Politics. The locals want to keep the investigation in-house. Our 'cultural expert' thinks it's a combination of pride and practicality – they figure they need to be able to deal with magic-based crimes on their own."

"Some strange mage tears all hell out of some rich guy's house and they decide to make it a test case." Kal sighed. "Idiots."

Aston shrugged. "Politics. We're officially not poking into it, but I got the impression that the orbital picket would be keeping a discrete eye on the city, so if they _do_ decide they want help, we can give it."

"If pride's a factor, would instantly being able to hand them results really be the best policy?" Kia sounded thoughtful.

_Doubt it_, sent Kal as he took a drink. "But that's above our pay grade."

There was a brief lull in the conversation as their waiter – a rather handsome young man named Konatsu – dropped off breakfast. They gave him a few words of thanks, which he accepted graciously, before moving off to deal with the next table.

_Do we have a plan for the day? _Asked Kia as she ate.

_Nothing serious. I intend to put in a little practice before tonight, and I'd suggest we all do the same. And keep in mind we're guests. Let's not cause any issues if we can avoid it._

_ Gotcha, Sergeant._

0_O

Marceau and Michael showed for the early class, and they got through it well. There was some joking about Bond not showing up, defused by the fact that Michael himself had no grounds to criticize the British agent for that. Reports, catching up on missed calls... the day flew for Ranma. He and Gos burned another hour throwing ideas around, which had actually been fairly cathartic – the otaku-turned-police-consultant seemed to be making progress, and by the end of the call, Ranma felt like he'd actually managed to contribute to the investigation.

But he still felt like he was being run ragged, and he couldn't catch up on everything. The night's lesson was fruitful, at least. Aston had gotten heads-together with his people and passed along some of his repertoire of dirty tricks. Bond, LaFleur, and Jones had countered with the same, though they'd been polite enough not to break out weapons yet. LaFleur even managed to get a little ki going, at least until Usagi told him he was, then, self-conscious, he suddenly couldn't anymore. Cracking that particular issue was going to be a royal pain.

O_0

Kendra Zendor sipped at her tea, thinking hard, as she considered the Arch of Kanosilas.

One of many strange artifacts and tomes of power held in the manor, the Arch was a strange and powerful thing, one designed to facilitate transport. Distant from the major centers of her world as her sanctum sanctorum was, the Arch meant she could always get where she needed, swiftly. Her father and his friends had fancied ideas of revolution, using it for lightning strikes at hidden places, but that was not to be. She still remembered the day that had ended; remembered reading about the arrest of his friends, branded, unfairly, terrorists. For a moment, she flashed back to that awful day, when dozens of strangers tramped through the family's home in the cities, saying they wanted to take her away, to somewhere else, and that she'd never have to see her daddy again. They wanted to help her, they said, and make things better.

Her father had told her never to go with such people; that they were dangerous. She'd stayed hidden, and listened. Their townhouse had been big, with many little hidden ways, and the people searching, who wanted to take her away from her father forever, were too big to get into them. Finally, frustrated, they gave up their hunt, and she'd listened as they left; their cries for her to join them, to be 'protected' by them, gave way to horrid lies about her father. They thought he'd done terrible things to her, but they didn't know anything. She knew her father was a good man, who just wanted to help people. She couldn't stay, couldn't let those liars take her away and do horrid things to her. So she fled, using a spell she wasn't supposed to know, calling on the Arch. It had taken her to this place, her sanctum santorum, where she was safe. She'd raised herself, for the most part, and she'd applied her skills with the mystic arts to learn more of the world, and the world beyond. She'd disguised herself as her father had told her to when she had to go among others, but she didn't go out any more than she had to. The cities were full of so many different people, so many secrets, so much she found strange and frightening. It was easier to stay here; where she was safe from the people who spread lies about her father and thought to 'save' her.

She could take care of herself quite nicely here. And it was, thankfully, remote enough that she seldom had to deal with travelers – Genma's arrival had been quite the surprise; literally the first person to randomly find the place in two years. The last person before that had been her mother. Her memories of her mother were pale, sketchy things from early childhood. She'd left her father, because she didn't believe in his Dream. She'd come back, tracked Kendra down, because she dearly wanted, like everyone else, to save her from herself.

She remembered that argument. It had hurt. Even her mother believed the horrible things that were said about her father. In the end, her mother had agreed to leave and they would never be a part of the other's life. The heartbreak on her face had been... poignant. Still. Kendra Zendor had learned the value of freedom at her father's knee. She would let no-one, not even her mother(who had, after all, abandoned her so long ago) make her change.

She did not share her father's dream of remaking the world to be better for all; she simply did not have the resources and contacts and power to do that. But she would make her own little corner of it better, and pursue a little bit of the happiness that the world seemed so devoted to taking from her. And in that pursuit, she'd found the object of her dreams; her destined one; had been taken from her. Just another step in kind with the setbacks her life was filled with; but she would not let them win.

Genma Saotome had supplied her with a link to Tokyo. His usefullness was limited now, given how many lies he had already spewed. But that very uselessness made him a useful sop for her temper. She had to free her Ranma from whatever vile hold was upon his mind. She knew in her very bones that she and Ranma were destined for each other. She'd fallen in love from a distance, true, but it was a real and genuine thing. Meeting him in person had been both exhilarating and heartbreaking, and yet, in his presence for the first time, she'd been so very, very sure. The feeling was so intense, so all-consuming, there could be no way he'd not felt it himself. It could only be the work of some outside force.

Capturing the Kunos had been a useful first step. Though they did not know _who_ had ensorceled her beloved, they were proof that the vile being had no shame, bewitching those around him for her own petty amusement. Both siblings had clearly been afflicted by some unfamiliar, subtle mental sorcery. Kodachi lusted after her beloved in his male aspect, but despised her female one. Tatewaki lusted after Ranma's female aspect, and wished death upon his male one. A touch of irony – he believed Ranma to be a sorcerer himself!

Even greater irony – she had only learned of this through bare chance. Her first instinct had been to kill, and she had invaded their estate with that very intent. Their hirelings had been quite capable, and she had opted to retrieve them instead, to deal with them properly, at leisure. In their words, she had heard signs of some kind of mental damage, and that realization had led her to someone or something having tampered with them.

She felt a faint touch of admiration for the mystery sorceress who had warped their minds, for it was a very subtle working. Only the fact that such mental tampering had clearly happened – for how else could two sane people be unable to tell that Ranma Saotome's aspects were two sides of the same beautiful coin – gave evidence of tampering. However it had been accomplished, it was, frankly, a masterwork. Even if they could not aid her in tracing the sorceress directly, she could study them, and perhaps learn how to find her foe.

To face a rival of such power frightened her. But face it she would, for this mystery witch had her claws in her beloved Ranma, and that would not be tolerated. If she had to flay apart the Kuno's minds in her quest, well, that stain upon her spirit she would endure, for Ranma's sake. Their minds would yield the knowledge of her foe, and she would use it to free him.

Truly, whoever had turned her Ranma against her was a base and foul villain! Some heartless crone, or some fickle, otherworldly manipulator, twisting so many lives to its foul whim. But she feared no darkness; whoever had done this, they would pay for it.

Finishing her tea, Kendra walked to the basements of her sanctum.

* * *

Tatewaki Kuno was not afraid of his situation, for fear was unbecoming of a Samurai of his lineage. Like all of his blood, he was strong of will and heart, and he had no reason to fear any danger. His current circumstance, while unpleasant, was certainly nothing he couldn't endure.

And besides, it was hard to be afraid of a flaxen-haired vision of loveliness, even if she had, by her own admittance, fallen foul of the vile sorcerer Saotome. As with his one true love, the beauteous pigtailed girl, and his other one true love, the incomparable Akane Tendo, she was ensorceled. How else could she resist his charms? Yes, he would have to save her.

As soon as he found break free of these chains.

A light moved in the hallway – "Ah, flaxen-haired goddess, you return to me!" _Progress! She returns! She CAN be saved!_

"Kuno, suh, Ah believe there is a common cause of our problems."

Hallelujahs played in anthems in Kuno's mind. "Yes! That vile sorcerer, Saotome! He lives to poison minds!"

She entered the cell now, voluptuous form only made more beautiful by the robes that concealed it, exuding a perfume that filled him with desire as it entered his nostrils. "Ah would root out these poisons, but Ah cannot do it without yoah leave."

_Such a perfect, respectful woman! Truly, she is one of my one true loves! _"I give you my leave; purge these poisons that we might be together!"

Her expression turned strange; almost cold, but that could not be. "Then Ah'll begin, and one way or anotha, you will help me free mah Ranma."

He was about to voice a protest – _free Ranma? When you have me?_ - when she muttered a word, and violet fire blazed in her eyes, and his mind turned to pain.

0_O

The clear weather and bright sun did little to elevate Ranma's mood, nor did the admittedly genuinely good fried rice he was munching on. "Any luck on your end'a the investigation?"

Gosunkugi shook his head as he worked on a mouthful of his own lunch. "Nothing I can use. I _think_ whoever did it teleported in and out, based on the traces I can find, but I don't even know where to begin on tracking it back from that. And that's all I can say with any confidence."

The two were seated in a small plaza. After a terse call from Lieutenant Ito that morning, Ranma wouldn't be talking about the case on the phone any time soon. At least this day of the week, he had enough time between classes to make a trip off for lunch and still get back. "Damn politics. I'll bet you anything the Bureau already knows what happened."

"No bet here."

A glance around showed no-one paying them undue attention. "Decent chance it's a Magical Worlder."

"Yeah. Unofficially, we're rattling some chains with them. Asking if they have any freelance mage hitters or something on the loose."

"What, like someone hired somebody to hit the Kunos?"

"Not like they have a surplus of friends."

"True." Ranma frowned as he ate a dumpling. "Gotta say, I ain't too sure about that. Nothin' else, there was a lotta collateral damage for a pro job."

"Again, just a theory. It could be someone home-grown, who just managed to stay under the radar."

"That makes sense, I guess."

"The other prevailing theory is it's your newest fiancee."

Ranma gave the otaku a look. "Nice to see my love life's top gossip with the cops."

"Hey, we love the juicy rumors."

"Feh. 'Fraid I didn't get a good read 'a her magic."

"Trying to change the subject?"

"Yes. You mentioned home-grown mages. You thinkin' what, yakuza?"

"Well, the Kuno family being as they are, it's almost certain they've offended various important people on both sides of the law, and having a tame mage almost _has_ to be a priority for the bad guys, to counter people like you and me working for the good guys. So. This new fiancee. What's your plan? Inquiring minds want to know."

Ranma shot him a look. "Wearin' a too-big leather duster don't make you a detective, Gos, an' it sure don't make you some expert adviser on love. This ain't funny. Lay off."

"Hey, we've got an office betting pool on this. There's some serious yen riding on these things."

"I think I liked you better when you where findin' weird magical artifacts an' trying ta kick my ass with 'em."

"Ah, the good old days. Look, seriously. Officially, we don't want the Senshi or the Bureau near this little venture. But off the record..."

"I'll drop a word in their ears." A pause. "Don't suppose the chain rattlers're askin' about Zendor?"

"Officially, I have no idea. Unofficially, I'll let you know if we hear anything about her."

"Thanks. I gotta fly, Gos. Time's a wastin.'" _Feh. I keep makin' excuses, an' it's just makin' me a joke. This is not a good time, but I'm done stringin' it out. Gotta make some calls..._

_

* * *

_

"Dai, you either got to stop lettin' 'em get so close in, or learn how ta _really_ work 'em at hand range."

The B-ranked mage muttered something that didn't translate as Bond offered him a hand up. Then, "I can't fly, remember? And my specialty is ranged spells. How'm I supposed to do that?"

"For a start, _listen_ to Usagi when she talks about this stuff. Then start ta _think_. Your hand-to-hand style ain't bad, it's just a little basic. Leverage yer advantages with it, an' it'll be easier to keep the other guy at range, where you want him."

Ranma felt a faint mental ripple; a sign that he was being left out of a conversation. Confirming it, Aston smacked Dai in the back of the head. "Manners, Maller."

"Yes, Sergeant." A sigh. "Okay, what am I missing?"

The silver-haired Senshi took a moment to gather her words. "First, stop just thinking about your range. Your blasts can still hit close in." A moment's concentration, and a ball of glowing energy appeared cupped in her hand. "If you can learn to focus your magic less directly through your Device, you get more flexibility." A smile. "Then you can start improvising."

"Okay, that sounds... reasonable."

"You could also try enhancement spells. Something to make yourself faster or stronger."

Jones turned to LaFleur. "This is going to hurt, isn't it?"

"Oui."

Dai looked over to them. "I think I'm liking this idea a little more all the time."

"Just bein' fast an' strong ain't enough," said Ranma, "But it's a good start."

"Indeed," quipped Bond, "There's such a thing as finishing too fast."

Kal and Aston, being between where Bond was standing and Akane, discretely stepped out of the way. For a long moment, Akane was very, very still, teeth clenched, then she exhaled loudly.

Bond chuckled. Kal and Aston edged back a bit further.

"James, cork it," Ranma growled, "Mind back in the class, everyone. Dai, let's you an' I work on some tactics. Usagi, Akane, take the others for a few. An' don't break any of 'em."

* * *

Finally, the night's lesson ended, and Akane said her good-nights to the departing students. It felt like she was helping, which was a nice feeling, and Kia was turning into a friend, even if she did seem to hang on that filthy-minded _gaijin_ Bond. He seemed to derive some perverse glee from egging her on.

Even without Ranma's admonition, she wouldn't have done anything _really_ permanent to him. Her self-discipline had improved in the last few years. She'd kept mostly calm, and she hadn't broken him. _Bent, _yes, but not broken. He was moving under his own power even now; sure proof that she'd not overdone things. Well. Limping under his own power.

A faint smile. She was probably enjoying that too much. Still, her week was going well. A good run in her college classes, some fun with her friends, and overall, _these_ classes had been quite interesting. She had to admit, it was rather nice to run into a mage she could beat in a straight fight. She believed in the Anything Goes maxim of 'if it works, it's not cheating,' if not quite so much as Ranma did, but it was fun to teach it to someone.

Things at home had been nice too, though her father had been a bit off, a bit more nervous than usual. But there were any number of reasons for that; Soun Tendo was not known for his strong nerve.

All that taken together, she should be fine. But Ranma had seemed... out of sorts all evening, and he'd wanted to talk about something. A Ranma who was out of sorts was unusual. Equally worrying, he'd told the marines and spies that the next day's lessons, all of them, were canceled for 'personal stuff.'

O_0

Ukyo, Shampoo, and Akane were all looking uneasy.

Ranma didn't blame them. He knew he had to do this. He knew he was making things worse the longer he left things. And he knew that, thanks to his own inability to figure out a solution to this problem, he was going to hurt three people he cared about. Whereupon they'd probably be hurting him.

They were in the back, in his living area, trying to look relaxed on his mismatched futon couches. "What's going on, Ran-chan?" asked Ukyo.

For a long moment, Ranma tried to find his voice. Then, "I've spent the last two years tryin' ta find a way to... to solve this situation. To find a way ta preserve everyone's honor with this... fiancee thing."

"No, I'll be honest. I was tryin' to preserve my honor, and my family's honor. T' rest was... secondary. An' I was hopin' for someone else ta solve my problem; hopin' for Konatsu or Mousse or someone ta step up." He winced at the admittance.

"I set up my own place as a way ta try an' spin things out, tryin' ta spot a way out. An' it's taken me two years ta admit that I've failed."

The silence was as deafening as it was brittle. Finally, Shampoo said, "What you saying, Arien?"

"I have dishonored myself and all three of you, but no longer. I've lied too much, and I'm done." A shuddering breath. This hurt, even more than he'd expected it to. "Shampoo, you're a friend, and I respect yer skills a lot... but I don't love you. An' I ain't gonna spend my life in a village in the middle of nowhere."

He took a breath. "Ukyo, you're my oldest friend. In a lotta ways, my best friend. I love you like a sister, but only as a sister."

Shampoo surged up from where she'd been seated, tears streaming from her eyes. "You no can do this! You no can cast Shampoo aside! Shampoo no allow it!"

Ranma's voice cracked as he replied. "I'm sorry."

The Chinese Amazon produced her Bonbori. Tears streaming from her eyes, screaming with rage and sorrow, she charged. Ranma closed his eyes as the mace descended.

The impact left him seeing stars as he flew through the air, crashing through a wall and landing in his bedroom on his back, drywall and two-by-four chunks all around him. Ears ringing, trying to gather his breath, Ranma tried and failed to sit up as Shampoo let the bonbori drop, and fled. Ukyo, too, fled, weeping aloud. Through ringing ears, Ranma could hear what sounded like a Breaking Point strike blowing apart steel;_ probably the steel-cored front door_, said some small, distant voice in his mind.

On his second try, Ranma manged to sit up. Face very neutral, Akane quietly asked, "Are you okay?"

"I'll live. Been hit harder." _Physically, anyway_

A long moment of hesitation. "And... me?"

Ranma's own hesitation was longer. "I love you Akane. Can't explain it, can't define it, but I do. But you deserve better. You deserve a guy who _has_ honor. An'... I done enough damage tonight. It wouldn't be fair ta anyone."

"You're... You're calling off the engagement with me, too? You.. You're..." She sat down heavily. "Why? Why do this? Why do it _now_?"

"Because spinnin' things out an' hoping someone else'd solve my problem for me is... it's what my father would do. It's dishonest, and dishonorable. I was just makin' things worse." A shuddering breath. "As for doin' it now? Some stranger showed up, a mage, said Genma had sold her my hand."

Akane sounded shattered. "You... you did this for some other..."

"_No!_" Ranma's voice was a snarl. "I told her to pound sand. Genma doesn't speak for me anymore. You _know_ that, Akane. But... I can't just ignore things. I can't just let this keep going. As soon as I get done with this training class, I'm tracking the Panda down and kicking his ass until he convinces me that he won't do it again."

"I can.. I think I understand, but.." She took a long, ragged breath. "I think... I think I should go now," she said, voice brittle.

"Okay." His voice sounded hollow even to himself.

He held himself together until Akane reached the door, then broke down himself, overcome by shame and loathing and the worthless platitude of _I did what I had to._

"Ranma Saotome don't lose;" he muttered between sobs. "Whatta joke."

* * *

Cologne, matriarch of the Chinese Amazons, ghosted through Tokyo's night. Her great-granddaughter's heart had been smashed to bits this night, and that called for... retribution.

The Saotome Dojo loomed out of the dark ahead of her, and she approached silently, a hole in the night. At its front, she could see the shattered ruin that had been the door, with what looked like a sheet of plywood propped against it. She paused. The matriarch knew that it was heavily warded; and that the Starseeds had done good work. She had no doubt that she could bypass it, but it would take time.

Carefully, her own senses attuned to her surroundings, she slipped into the Dojo and ghosted through the public areas of it. Into the living area, past some destruction, and into the darkened bedroom.

The lights snapped on. On the far side of the room, Ranma faded into view. "You made it in without trippin' the wards. Slick." He sounded tired; drained. _Defeated? Amazing, for him._

"Saotome. Do you know what you've done?"

"Dishonored myself, Akane, Ukyo, and Shampoo, with a side-order'a gutting three o' the people I care most about in t' world. Oh, an' when my mom finds out she'll probably demand I commit seppuku for the stain on t'family honor."

_Well, at least he does not hold illusions about what he's done. Still, I can twist the knife. _"And what do you think you accomplished, foolish boy?"

"Told the truth an' stopped makin' an unwinable situation worse."

"Truth," she sneered. "How very _convenient_ for you. Did you consider, even for a moment, what must happen to my great-granddaughter when she comes home without you?"

The temperature in the room began to drop as he drew upon the Soul of Ice. Good. She'd touched a nerve. "That ain't my problem," said Ranma in a ragged voice.

"Typical male! Refusing to be responsible for your actions." She gave a pious _snf_.

"I ain't the one who gave a Kiss of Death to someone I couldn't beat."

"Feh, you pretend to understand our laws. You know nothing, Saotome, and you presume to know everything." _And now to _really_ twist the knife. _"Just like your father."

The temperature dropped sharply for several moments as Ranma's hands tightened into fists. Cologne's breath misted in the air as she watched, expression impassive but grinning inwardly. _Yes, this is unfair to the boy. But the Chinese Amazons are not known for fighting fair._

"I am not my father," said Ranma raggedly. "He'da kept lying; kept dishonoring everyone involved, an' tried to shove responsibility onto someone else."

"So you are not responsible for your perfidy? The dishonor you heap upon others is not your fault? I see the son, but I hear the father. I do not know why I am surprised; you are simply an honorless male. Typical of the breed."

"Maybe so," said Ranma, anger thickening his voice even through the neutralizing influence of the Soul of Ice. "But if it is... why would you be wastin' yer time here? Tryin' ta kidnap me? Or just kill me?"

"You certainly deserve death for your actions, but my own options are limited. I, at least, have enough honor to think of what my actions might result in." _Another wince. His control is good, but slipping. Good._ "Japan would never accept our killing you, or taking you with any sign it was not your idea. They would make demands of China; demands that would create undue problems for my people. You are protected by people every bit as honorless as yourself, Saotome."

"Just came ta twist t' knife then?"

"Of course not." _Hrm. He is more perceptive than I had hoped. _"There is purpose in my actions. I had thought to harvest some of your... essence. With it, Shampoo could carry a child of your blood, which _might_ be enough to regain her a place among the Amazons."

The Soul of Ice cut out sharply, and Saotome glared at her. "You wouldn't."

"What would you care? You would not be needed to raise the child, it would not trouble you."

"It'd still be my kid. I _ain't _enough of a louse ta just abandon a kid." He took a ragged breath, visibly restraining himself. _He isn't sure if he'd win a fight with me. Good._ "You think t' only way fer Shampoo ta have a home back with your people is ta bring a piece a' me back? She is! Spent t' last two years teaching her. Her style's Anything Goes as much as yer own Amazon style, _an' you know it!_"

"So now you would claim to be a greater martial artist than all of amazon tradition?"

"I know better than that." He took a moment to calm himself, and the temperature in the room started to drop again. "But I ain't about ta become an even bigger louse than my dad, and let some kid of mine get raised without me, an' in some podunk town in the middle'a nowhere where he won't get any choice about what ta be. I had no choice, my kids _will_." Even through the deadening of the Soul of Ice, his fury bled through. "My technique, I've spent my life honing it. Shampoo, an' Shenuha, both learned from me. You want a chunk of me? That's all I'll give ya."

_I wonder, how far can I push him before his temper snaps? _"Feh, I am wasting my time. I should not compare you to your father. In your dishonor, it insults _him_. I am sure your _mother_ will demand you cleanse that shame; but I expect you will just find some excuse to refuse; as you are doing now."

"And I have no doubt you will lose no sleep over what your actions will cost my great-granddaughter. Why should you care?"

The room was so cold frost was beginning to form on the inside of the windows, but Ranma's fury still bled through the Soul of Ice. "I care. But you don't believe me. I ain't your stud horse, an I ain't your punching bag. Get out of my house, or I'll do one thing tonight I _won't_ regret."

_Oho, this is almost as good a revenge as I could have wanted. We may have lost, but so have you. _ She let the sneer grow wide, pushed it into her voice. "Then you condemn someone you _claim_ to care for. You lie as easily as your father. From now, all that happens to her, is your fault."

Ranma started to shake in place as the temperature in the room dropped sharply. Cologne kept the smirk from her face until she'd cleared the room as she started back to the Neko Han Ten. _Enough of a parting blow, I think, to satisfy Amazon tradition._


	8. Chapter Seven

_Disclaimer: I still don't own these characters, nor do I make a claim on them. Just having a little fun._

Chapter Seven

Nabiki Tendo roofhopped across Juuban.

It took a lot to inspire her to acts of recklessness, but spending a night with her sister crying into her shoulder, utterly heartbroken, could do it. She bounded along in near silence, face a mask of concentration.

It had been _quite_ a while since she'd done this.

_And now I'm almost there. Almost to my sensei's dojo, arriving with intent to maim. _She had no illusions about her ability to take Ranma in a straight fight, or even out of a well-laid ambush. But she'd bet Euros to yen that she wouldn't be the first person to arrive looking for a piece of him. Mousse, Konatsu, and Cologne had probably been through already. If Ranma still needed a good kicking, she could probably handle what was left of him.

If he needed it.

Nabiki Tendo was a student of human nature. She knew Ranma quite well; in some ways better than he knew himself. From what she and Kasumi had gotten out of Akane over the last night – somehow, their father had slept through the lot, which was probably for the best – she suspected Ranma had his reasons. They might even be good ones. Certainly worth trying to get straight from the horse's mouth, as it were. He'd put skid-chains on his ego, these last few years, but to do something like this, something he had, according to Akane, phrased entirely as a failure on his part, and admit it...

He had reasons, and even barring interference from some other party, he was probably in just as nasty shape, emotionally, as Akane. She'd give him, oh, ten seconds to convince her; then she'd do her level best to kick his ass for her sister's sake.

Concentrating on what she'd do once she got to Saotome's, she suddenly realized she'd stopped watching her route. _Oh dear, that's a really long gap between this building and the next one..._ Forty feet up, fifteen feet from the next roof, and five past the last one, she called on her meager reserves of ki. Reaching out, green energy flaring from hands and feet, stretching, and hit the roof edge in a low roll. Then she took a moment to catch her breath, just sort of... watching the clouds go by. _And I need to either do this more often, or drop it entirely from my life._

"I need to find a backpack big enough to hold my notebooks and textbooks while still stylish enough to be seen with," she muttered, coming to a decision. "Because this is more fun than I remember, too." Finally, after a few minutes of letting herself calm down, she picked herself up and started off again. _A little more care, but I think I'll make it._

Back in the rhythm of roofhopping, she managed a perfect landing in front of the Dojo, attracting some small notice from the early morning foot traffic. "Huh." _That would be the remains of the security door. Wonder which of them did it._

She slipped inside, putting the plywood blocking the shattered door back, and looked around with care. Given the givens, there was surprisingly little damage to the entry hallway.

She'd never learned Ranma's Umi Sen Ken, but she'd devised something of her own that did similar things – for someone in the line of gathering information, the ability to convince everyone around you to just... not notice you for a few minutes was as good as gold – and concentrated for a long moment, exuding an aura of _nothing to see here, move along_ as she poked into Saotome's dojo. The ability was limited; it seldom worked against someone who was paying attention, for instance, but it was a wonderful advantage.

His office was open. She resisted the urge to poke around. _Where is he?_ A little deeper into the building and she glanced into the dojo proper. One of the punching posts had been snapped in half and was – she looked – lying against the far wall.

_A picture is beginning to form. He didn't get in a fight, he probably tried to calm down, hence the punching post. Bet he couldn't sleep... _A breath, and she tried to _feel_ the surroundings. She knew full well her abilities to sense ki were pitiful compared to Akane's, but Ranma put it out like a furnace. If he was in the building... He was, somewhere in back, she thought.

Keeping her aura of _just ignore me_ up, she waked to the living area of the dojo. A glance into the living room, complete with rough plywood patch over the wall, then she went deeper. A sound of a chair scraping on tile from the kitchen. Nabiki ghosted to the doorjam, peeked around it.

Face puffy, eyes almost as red as her disheveled hair, Ranma sat at the kitchen table, picking at a salad-bowl full of chocolate ice cream. An empty ice-cream tub sat in the sink, haphazardly flung.

Nabiki had seen Ranma brooding. She'd seen him hurting, she'd seen him in a towering rage and a cold fury. But she'd never seen the aquatransexual look... broken before. The redhead's face was the very picture of misery.

She stood there for a long moment, unsure of what to do. Ranma didn't seem to notice her. Nabiki blinked in sudden realization. _Merciful Kamis, she _doesn't_ notice me! I _know_ Ranma can see through this trick at this range... She's worse off than I thought. _A moment's more thought, then she composed herself and let the technique fall away.

Ranma glanced up. "Oh, hi, Nabs. Mornin.'" Her voice was hoarse, ragged.

"You look like hell."

"Gotta give t' old ghoul credit, she knows how ta shred ya with more'n just weapons. Figured between myself an' whoever took a shot, I'd be useless ta teach today. I was right." She gestured towards the fridge. "Help yourself to some ice cream, if ya want."

Stepping deliberately, Nabiki Tendo moved to the table. "What happened? Akane's account was... a bit fragmented."

The redhead sighed heavily, deflating slightly. "I couldn't... I've been letting t' problem stew for two years. Tryin' ta find a way out, hopin' someone else'd take one're two 'a the girls off my hands. Tryin' ta let someone else solve my problem." She took a deep breath, then, quietly, "Just like the panda would."

"So instead of keeping on not dealing with it you decided to, what, take a big hammer to the issue?"

The redhead shot her a look and said, in heated tones, "Nabs, I've spent _two years_ tryin' ta find a way to solve the problem without dishonoring anyone. Two. Years." All the frustration and anger faded from Ranma's voice, leaving it simply... bleak. "I failed. There wasn't a way out, no way ta avoid dishonor. All I was doin' keepin' on, was makin' things worse. There was no magic trick, no new technique, no clever tactic. I failed. I accepted that... an I just kept on with what I was doing." A deep breath, and she paused, trying to gather her thoughts. "My father's a scumbag. I don't want ta be like him. I always tell myself I ain't like him. But I was tryin' ta make my problem someone else's; tryin' ta pass it off ta somebody else. If I wanna be better than him, I have ta stop doin' what he does."

Nabiki let that process for a long moment as she watched Ranma stare miserably into her ice cream. _I can almost see where he's coming from._ "So. Why do it now?"

"Because..." Ranma's voice was very quiet. "It's so easy ta say 'oh, this isn't a good time. I need ta get ready for t' Bureau's people. I gotta deal with these foreigners. I got so much ta do with classes. So easy ta put it off, let it slide a couple days. And again, and again. If I didn't deal with it now... I mighta never dealt with it at all." A shuddering breath. "So I dealt with it. I hurt people I care about, an' I dishonored myself, but in t' long run, it'll probably be better." Barely louder than a whisper; "It has ta be."

* * *

Katsushiro Roth looked up from his paperwork to see his partner staring into the middle distance, eyes unfocused. "Is there something bothering you, Omi?"

She started, glanced at him. "Not wrong per se, Kat, just... wondering how much needs to go into our report about Saotome's little issue last night."

"Standing orders are to report everything and let higher sort it out."

"I know, but... It's not like this has any real bearing on our actual case, and it's mighty personal."

Roth blinked. "Oi vey; Omi. We're spies. Digging into other people's personal stuff is what we _do._"

She sighed. "I know. But... this feels so... gratuitous. And I didn't slip a mic into the private section of that place to listen in on a lover's spat; I slipped a mic back there in case he had any interesting conversations with the bureau behind closed doors. To wallow in his misfortune just feels wrong."

_I never thought I'd see the day. _"You're serious about this."

"...Yes."

For a long moment, he stared at Agent Lieber, trying to decide what _he_ thought of the situation. Clearly, the subject was in a hell of a spot, but that was hardly _their_ problem; their concern began and ended with the Bureau. But their orders were clear; everything had to be in the reports. Indeed, given what they now knew about Saotome's ability as a trainer, they should probably be recommending that they use this... breaking of ties with his ladies as leverage to recruit him.

Of course, that report didn't need to be sent off to Jerusalem just yet. And he knew from past experience that Omiko's skills were up to doctoring audio recordings...

_I don't much care about Saotome, but I do care about my partner. And keeping her happy. _"Well, you figure out what you want to do. I'll... I'll be taking a walk for a while."

She caught his meaning, shot him a smile. "Thank you. Have fun."

"I will." _If you're gonna do this, do it right, Omi. I'm sticking both our necks out for this._

_ How does that short sucker inspire this sort of thing? Bottle it, and you'd make a fortune..._

_

* * *

_

Subotia Ishima liked Konatsu, he honestly did. The prettyboy's habit of crossdressing (_amazingly_ convincingly) didn't really bother him per se – power to the kid, honestly, he pulled it off really well. But while he could work with one of him just fine, working with three of him at once...

To be fair, Konatsu didn't do his 'split body technique' all that often. That didn't make it less creepy. He was doing it because the boss lady was laid up, and one of the part-timers had called sick at the last moment. The two copies out serving were dolled up to look like brother and sister, rather than exact doubles (thank some beneficent deity) with a third in the back, on dishes and prep, where Subotai himself would be most days. The real deal was upstairs, taking care of the boss lady.

_And part of why I'm not comfortable just being here, is I want to go find Saotome and do my level best to feed him his own spleen. Nobody should get away with hurting a lady like that._

Well, he'd take Konatsu along for that. He'd probably be little better than a distraction against Saotome. But damn it, it was the thought that counted. For the moment, however, he was using everything Ukyo Kuonji had taught him about working a grill, so that despite what Saotome had done to her, she would at least not have to worry about her business. Her people would stand behind her, offering all the support they could. One advantage to being a restaurant built into the ground floor of an apartment building; they had a fair number of people who'd be behind them.

Even over the midmorning bustle, he heard the creak of that one loose stair. Glancing into the back, he saw Ukyo walking down, the pseudokunoichi behind her. Her eyes were red, her face blotchy, but she looked as strong and stubborn as ever. Subotia let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

Looking weary but alert, Ukyo slid to her usual spot behind the grill. "How's things," she asked in a tired voice.

"Not too bad, boss. Uh, yourself?"

She gave him a faint smile. "I've been better. But the choices are weep like a helpless little girl, double down on a bad plan, or move on with my life. I've tried doubling down and it didn't work, and damned if I'm going to let him break me. I'm moving on with my life."

"Glad to hear it."

* * *

Kendra Zendor sat before her living room window, staring into the night, not particularly looking at anything.

She'd been wrong. She'd been so certain – so utterly certain – that the only explanation for the Kunos was some form of tampering with their minds. But now... she had delved and dug and probed; and it was clear that such tampering had not occurred. Their minds were simply... the way they were. Part of her wanted to keep digging; but to do so now would cause permanent, irreparable damage to their minds; and she had found not the slightest hint that there was any tampering to dig _for_.

The realization had grown over the course of a day, and with it a mounting horror. At her father's knee, she had learned that there was no greater truth than your convictions; that faith and will defined the world, and could change that definition. Her faith and her will had lead her to tear apart two minds – minds already fragile, but not due to any magic or potion she had ever heard of. She had been... wrong.

_And if you were wrong about that; what else have you been wrong about? Your father's goals? Your mother's reasons? Could you not also be wrong about Ranma? About him being _made_ to reject you by some outer means? About you and he being destined? _She cried; tears of loss and pain, cries that echoed in the black pit of despair that yawned in her soul; threatening to devour her. _How could it come to this? How could it come to naught? How could I be wrong? How could I fail so... utterly?_

She did not know how long she sat, staring into nightfall's gloom. Long enough. Eventually, she found her center; remembered the words of her mother, seared into her mind even now: _When your conviction is wrong, seek more information._ She stood, walked back to her shrine and opened both doors. In a voice quiet and quavering, she said, "Ah have need of moah information. One of you can help me. Who shall Ah ask?"

* * *

Usagi Tsukino was coldly furious with Ranma.

Oh, she understood that he was in an awkward situation, but for him to just... steamroll three of her friends like this... It had taken all the self control the Princess could lend her to stay in class and finish her day, after running into Nabiki Tendo and asking if she knew why her sister hadn't made it in today.

But now, classes were done and it was time to let the aquatransexual know how unamused she was by this. The Princess agreed with her, and she knew she was carrying the power of a good-sized storm around with her. By habit, she'd disguised herself, but in her power and fury, that disguise was slipping, gleams of silver in her hair slipping through her glamour, and glints of the silver crescent moon that permanently marked her forehead.

At first, she'd not minded the changes to her appearance brought on by her use of the Silver Crystal to save Tokyo. Well, not much – even now she still, sometimes, mourned the loss of the first Silver Song. They had rebuilt her Device, but she was not quite the same, anymore. She'd been famous, popular, recognized by all. And at first, she'd loved it.

But it had gotten really tiresome, really fast. And she'd found that she had a lot of... really disturbed fans. The other Senshi, even Setsuna and Michiru to an extent, could blend into a crowd with minimal effort. She could not. She didn't particularly like hiding behind illusions, either, but it was the lesser evil. She hated it, but weighed against the reason she'd done what she'd done, it was no price at all to pay. She'd gotten very good at those illusions. That they were currently not holding together well was a sign of how angry she was, but she was, more or less in control.

Well. She thought she was. If not, well, Ranma had proven rather hard to break in the past.

O_0

Chocolate therapy had gotten Ranma collected enough start cleaning up the wreckage of his home. The work of doing so – simple, plain, grunt work – had let him grind out some more nervous energy, and he was almost feeling normal by the time he'd gotten the new front door hung. Alas, the warranty on the old one hadn't covered destruction by angry ex-fiancee, but while his petty cash was all but wiped out by the repair costs, he'd gotten _something_ productive and non-destructive accomplished.

The patch to his bedroom wall was a bit rougher than he liked – it was not due to laziness that he contracted out most of the repair on this place normally – and it still needed painting, but it wouldn't do to do that right now; better to get it in the morning, when there'd be time to throw windows open and let the place air out and dissipate fumes all day. He'd had his head ripped at by a master last night; he felt no need to let chemistry mess with him now.

The new punching post was in place; the concrete it was set in would be done hardening by the time LaFleur got in to class tomorrow. He'd very thoroughly swept the dojo floor, making sure to get any errant splinters. He was still a little embarrassed at having broken the thing in the first place; Ranma prided himself on control, and he'd lost it last night, trying to purge himself of fury and shame in Cologne's wake. At least a punching post was a relatively inexpensive thing to break by accident.

And now it was early evening, and he'd finished the cleanup and caught up on his missed calls. He was feeling more or less back in control; more or less on an even emotional keel. He'd spent a couple hours running kata... and now he was, more or less, bored. He wanted to go and do something with his friends, but at the moment he figured none of them would much want to see him. It was a hell of a depressing thought. _But I've brought it on myself, and I still agree with the reasons why. So I AIN'T gonna let this drag me into another pity party._

He ran kata for most of an hour, trying to lose himself in the simple action of it. It didn't work. As his body went through the motions, his mind turned inward, and he began to brood.

The sound of a clearing throat cut through his mental haze, and suddenly he realized that the burning he felt in his muscles wasn't just fatigue. And that he was way more tired and out of it than he'd thougth. Turning, Ranma saw that he wasn't alone; Usagi Tsukino, face unreadable, hair a gleaming silver fall, stood in the doorway. "Hey."

"I hope you're happy with yourself, Ranma." The Senshi's voice was angry, giving lie to her neutral expression. He blinked, gave her another look. _I ain't talking to Usagi so much as I am to the Princess. Goodie._

The martial artist chuckled bitterly. "Not really. I did somethin' I shoulda done two years ago; mighta hurt less if I'd done it then." A breath. "I don't actually enjoy hurting my friends, Usagi. I just... if I hadn't done this, it woulda hurt 'em more in the long run."

The Senshi stood in silence a moment, then, "I wish I could think of something to suggest, something I saw to get out of it... but knowing Ukyo and Akane as well as I do... I can't."

"Who told you?"

"I ran into Nabiki between classes. Akane didn't even show up today."

Ranma winced. "Nabs say anythin' about how she's doing?"

"Mostly that she was sleeping it off. Nabiki and Kasumi both think she'll be fine in a day or two."

Ranma let out a relieved breath. "I'm glad ta hear that. Don't suppose you've heard anything about Shampoo or Ukyo?"

"Ukyo looks tired and strained, but she was running the grill when I passed her restaurant. As for Shampoo... well, the Neko Han Ten has a 'closed forever' sign on it, and I couldn't feel any of the Amazons in there."

The martial artist winced again. "Wish I could say I was surprised. I just hope Shampoo's okay, wherever they've gone."

* * *

Mousse was a proud son of the Chinese Amazon tribe, one who respected its traditions even if he... stretched... them a bit. Well. A lot. Still. He knew that one of their guiding principles was to never let anyone get one over on you. The Kiss of Death was a mark that one would be hounded to the ends of the earth, and it was hardly atypical of their traditions.

So he did not understand why Elder Cologne was insisting they retreat, rather than deal Ranma the death he so richly deserved for hurting his beloved Shampoo. He wanted to lay waste to the aquatransexual, even more than he had for the last year or so. It vexed him! Cologne forbade him from delivering unto Ranma the beating he so richly deserved. Even today, as they packed up their things and got ready to leave Japan behind, with Shampoo devastated and in tears, she refused.

What did 'geopolitics' and 'the Chinese Government's response to the Amazons angering Japan' have to do with anything? There was no reason to care about such things; this was an issue of tribal honor! He burned to avenge this slight, but he was a good son of the tribe. He would follow orders, however little he agreed with them, and followed her to this ship like a good little tribesman. Even if he did think she was being foolish. Oh, he'd been following the news on television, and the things it was saying about China being unstable, but surely that could not affect the tribe! They were no part of the decadent, foolish idiocy in the cities, and for time out of mind the Chinese government and the Amazons had more or less agreed to ignore each other. Surely that was not about to change, whatever they did here, or whatever happened in those cities.

Still. He'd come to like his life in Tokyo, and he didn't much like to leave it behind, even if he did see where the Elder was coming from when she said their purpose there was finished. But it ate at him, that they were just going to let Ranma get _away_ with hurting Shampoo so much, without shedding blood to remove that stain on their honor. That just wasn't right. Granted, he supposed he was glad it hadn't ended with his beloved in another man's arms, but that didn't make him any happier to see her standing at the stern of the ship, gazing back towards Tokyo with an expression of naked longing on her face. He wished there was something he could do to heal her broken heart.

Wait.

There _was_ something he could do! Ranma had just broken her heart, yes, but that meant _he_ could pick up the pieces, and have his beloved to _himself_! It was perfect! How had he not seen that before?

Pausing a moment to check with his glasses; to make sure he was aiming for the correct figure, he lunged at Shampoo. "My darling Shampoo! Now we can be together!"

In his enveloping grip, she stiffened; her hands, where they gripped the ship's rail, tightened and crumpled steel with a sharp, metallic groan. Then she looked at him with an expression of utter rage.

"Shampoo?" This wasn't right; she should be _happy_, just like he was. Why wasn't she-

She gathered a fistful of his robes, broke his grip, and lifted him from the deck one handed. "Stupid duck-boy, think Shampoo suddenly like you?"

A slow blink. "Well, yes."

Anger blazed in her eyes, and suddenly he was flying towards a steel bulkhead. "_Stupid Duck!"_

_

* * *

_

Hikaru Gosunkugi was, in mystic terms, an utter lightweight. He had knowledge with very little actual power, but that knowledge was what his boss wanted him for.

Knowledge, and years of experience in poking around the supernatural and picking out information or items or whatnot, and finding patterns in the same. He'd cultivated some decent instincts on that score. And those instincts told him that there was decent odds of something happening tonight with his case.

He'd managed to finagle a copy of the PSIA's transcript of Ranma's conversation with one Kendra Zendor. While he didn't doubt Ranma's saying he couldn't be _sure_ the attack on the Kunos had been the girl, well, there was probably a little guilt talking there; Ranma not wanting to make things worse on her after he'd hurt the lady in the first place. Also, Gos was out of leads. At this point, playing a hunch was all he had.

But if this lady _did_ have some vague knowledge of Ranma's other romantic interests, well, it was hardly a secret that Kodachi Kuno liked to experiment with mind-altering drugs and such. Kendra'd been spouting off about destiny. So, if she was going after other people who were interested in Ranma, starting with the Kunos might mean she figured someone had done something to Ranma's head. Which would, one would think, bring her to go after the Amazons, who were also prone to such shenanigans.

Of course, the Amazons were currently, literally, on a slow boat to China. He couldn't get anywhere near them, but he could easily get to their now-abandoned restaurant. And quite possibly spend the night being very bored; stakeouts rather frequently didn't pan out, but if nothing else, he would feel like he was at least trying to get something done.

Kaga would likely appreciate him at least making an effort.

He sucked down lukewarm coffee with far too much sugar. _Even by stakeout standards this is annoying. I'm across the street from a building I _know_ is empty, in the vague hope that-_

A tickle of power, and from the mouth of an alley a block down, purple light. He choked for a moment, spat coffee, and stared openmouthed as a tall, striking gaijin with blonde hair walked purposefully into the quiet street, coming to a stop before the Neko Han Ten.

"Holy shit," muttered Gosunkugi. "I was right." Feeling a surge of confidence, he stepped into the street and walked up behind her. The gaijin was casting some spell; a wash of pale pinkish-purple light playing across the restaurant. Pulling his handcuffs out of a duster pocket, the otaku-turned-policeman said, in tones that he thought sounded properly authoritative, "Kendra Zendor, you are under arrest."

She started, turned towards him, lips pulled back in a snarl. "Who are you, suh, to accost me?"

"Hikaru Gosunkugi, Tokyo PD. Ma'am, I'd just like you to come back to the station and answer a few questions."

"Ah have done nothing wrong!"

_Sure you haven't. _"Then it'll be a short visit. If you'll just co-operate, we can get this cleared up in a few minutes, than you'll be free and clear."

_It's always a sad thing, seeing a beautiful face turn so... nasty_, he thought as she visibly stopped herself from shrieking in fury. "Ah do not have _TIME_ foah this!" One hand dipped into a pocket and came up with a – card? Years of curiosity about the supernatural overrode, for a moment, the caution his police training had tried to imbue him with. Looking close, he made out the details. The central part of the design was the woman before him. Draped against one leg was... his eyes widened... Kodachi Kuno, wearing not very much. Surrounding them both was some runic text that looked vaguely familiar.

As the card started to glow, his survival instincts started to kick in and he tried to run. Kendra spoke an incantation, and suddenly black iron rose vines erupted from the street below him. Whiplashing around his limbs, they quickly hauled him down. He struggled; but all it accomplished was the vine's thorns digging through his clothes; at their sharp, digging touch, he froze. The tall blonde stomped over to him; and the vines shifted, lifting him to eye level. "Ah came heah to talk. Ah just wanted to ask a few questions. An' they ain't even heah! An' _you_ jus' gotta get in mah business an' take me away 'foah mah own good!' Well Ah ain't some helpless child anymoah, an' Ah ain't gonna stand foah this! T' ones Ah wanted t' question ain't heah. You, suh, will just have to do."

She spoke a word of power, and a purple arch opened took shape behind her. She seized his collar in one hand and hauled him through, the vines still tight around him. As they passed into the portal, it vanished, leaving the street in relative darkness, as the remaining vines abruptly dissolved into dust.

(0_O)

"Huh. Captain Ariel? That magical signature you wanted us to watch for? Just got a brief ping of it in Tokyo again; but it looks like it's already gone."

"Log it, Lieutenant. And keep your eyes on the boards. When the locals give up their fumbling search; we'll want to be able to hand them their answers."


	9. Chapter Eight

_Disclaimer: as ever, this is intended only as entertainment and a tribute. No claim is being made or implied to these characters and worlds, and I have far too little money to be worth suing these days._

Chapter Eight

There were few things that could bring out _genuine_ French-Canadianness in Marceau LaFleur, as opposed to the studied, overblown caricature that he used for a cover. Really good poutine would do it. The rare holiday visit with his extended family. Indulging in the occasional traditional meal.

Watching a Montreal Canadiens game.

He and Jones had taken it upon themselves to introduce the Bureau marines to Earthly sports. They'd started with baseball, the day before yesterday – Japan was mad about the sport, and spotting a game or two on the hotel bar's excellent big screen had been easy. It wasn't Marceau's sport of choice, of course, but he followed it enough to accurately mock the various Torontonians back in the office between hockey seasons.

Hockey wasn't a terribly popular game in Japan, but the six of them had become steady enough customers in the last week that, so long as they were paying, the bartender would let them watch whatever the hell they wanted on the big screen. Marceau was content. He had nachos, decent beer, a jersey(they packed well, and he could always justify it to his bosses as being part of his cover story), friends, and people who's brains he'd be picking in quiet moments and between periods. Aston's bunch returned the favor, and both sides were learning lots of little things about the other. A judicious use of the time their unexpected lack of a class last night gave them.

On the whole, he figured it was going well. He didn't know if Aston's squad was representative of the Bureau's military, but some conversations with Ranma implied that they were, if not average, at least close to it. His reports had more theorizing and guesswork than he or his superiors generally liked, but they were shaping into a decent picture of things anyway.

The first period was well under way now, and the Habs were up by a goal. Life was good, despite the peanut gallery.

"Okay, I'm confused," said Dai. "The team is called the 'Canadians,' isn't it? So why are their colours red, white, and blue? I thought those were American colours?"

"Au contraire, Maller. T' Habs colours are bleu-blanc-rouge."

"...The order makes a difference?"

"The explanation is long, complicated, and doesn't make much sense without a _lot_ of historical context," said Jones. "The short version is 'yes, very much so.'"

The green haired marine shook his head. "You people make stuff way too complicated."

"But of course. It is t' best way."

0_O

Everyone pretended that nothing was wrong.

It made for a rather awkward class, but damned if Aston could figure out a way to deal with that. Ranma seemed subdued, less enthusiastic than he normally would be. Tsukino seemed more than a little pissed at him. And Tendo hadn't shown at all. Being short a teaching assistant was running Ranma ragged.

He'd have to try and get answers out of the martial artist later. No way in hell was he going to try and interrogate the Senshi. She had power to rival Colonel Yagami, who made _him_ look like a powerless child. He'd sooner goof off in one of the White Devil's classes than risk annoying Tsukino, no matter how badly he wanted to find out just what the hell had happened two nights ago. Clearly, _something_ had happened; if nothing else the new door was a sign of something, but he wasn't sure _what_.

Ranma at least seemed to have his head in the game – though he was letting Bond get away with a bit more flirting with Kia than Aston himself really liked. Yes, she was a grown woman, and what she did with her free time was her own business and not his, but Bond struck him as something of a bastard. An interesting fighter with no qualms about fighting dirty, and someone he wouldn't mind having at his back in a brawl, but not a man he'd trust with anyone. Hell, it mostly boiled down as Tommy Aston feeling all big-brother protective of Kia, who was a good ten years his junior.

Still, nothing he could do but be in a position to catch any fallout, and deliver great pain unto Bond if he hurt her. Wasn't quite what the regs mandated, of course, but some things were more important than that. And it was something to think about that wasn't what was wrong here.

_And given what I know about Ranma and Akane's relationship, her not being here means whatever happened was big and bad. Tsukino being mad at him is almost certainly connected to it._

_ I suppose it ought to wind up in my report for the day, but damned if I know _what_ I'm reporting. Or what Higher will try to do with it. Hell with it, I like you Saotome, but I have a job to do, and we could do worse than try to recruit you in a moment of unhappiness._

Putting the mystery out of his mind for the moment, he concentrated on the kata Tsukino was leading them through. It was, she'd explained, one that Ranma had devised with the other Senshi for Beautiful Shining Magic Strike Arts(which was a mouthful if ever he'd heard it, and which had won a token growl from Ranma when he heard Tsukino call it that). It was... interesting. It helped move energy around in a way that reminded him more than a little of what a few neo-Belkan style mages he'd once met explained how their spells worked. Not entirely, of course, but somewhat.

Enough to make things interesting. If nothing else, he could tell his superiors that much.

O_0

As long as he was home, Ranma was not really in the habit of keeping the Dojo locked. His reputation was enough to keep thieves out – even the really skilled would, if nothing else, set off the wards, and that'd wake him from just about any sleep. He'd lived an... interesting enough life that just about any out-of-place noise would wake him, as well, and over the last few months he'd made it a habit of keeping 'watch' over the place with his ki senses as well. It was good practice. Nabs managing to sneak up on him yesterday... well, either she'd made a _lot_ of improvements to her little 'ignore me' trick – which wouldn't really bother him, per se, she was his student after all and it was always kinda cool when one of the people he'd trained pulled something new out of their hats – or he'd been even more out of it than he'd thought.

If it was that second one, he had a depressingly long list of enemies who could have just waltzed into the Dojo and ambushed him at his kitchen table. Most of them could probably have taken him out with an ambush, as off kilter as he'd been. Not a fun thought at all.

Still, he was mostly back on kilter now, and thus, he felt it immediately when his mother let herself in. It was early – most of an hour to go before any of his students arrived. _Didn't think she was this much of an early riser. Oh, kamis, this is gonna go badly, I just know it._

Nodoka Saotome entered the Dojo, and Ranma bowed to her. _She's gone all out. This is gonna be bad._ His mother was clad in her most elaborate, traditional kimono. The Saotome family honor blade was in her hands, the sheath without it's traditional cloth covering it. "My son. You have dishonored yourself and our clan. Why?"

Ranma took a deep breath to steady his nerves. "Because I saw no way out. I know the traditional thing to do would be ta-" _Formal, baka, she deserves it. _"To stay the course and... keep on keeping on. But Ge- Father created a situation that's too complicated to solve without dishonor. I have tried to unravel it to no avail. And Father has continued to complicate it. I have tried to find a way to... resolve the situation without dishonor. I could only marry one of them, however. My plan was to buy time for them to... lose interest, or for other suitors to gain their interest."

"To what, wed the last woman standing?"

"Uh... Well, that would be sort of what honor would call for." _I had hopes for who'd be last standing, but I wouldn't really put it that way. And for honor's sake I could deal with... well, what happened, I guess._

Nodoka sighed. While she held the blade's sheath in one hand, her other was not on the hilt. Ranma took this as a good sign. "I hoped you would have a plan, but it seems you did not. My son... why have you done this now? If you felt the situation unsolvable, why not deal with this years ago, and try to reduce the dishonor?"

"I was trying to find a solution. Moving out here was an attempt to get a little space... to... reduce the pressure on things, and try to make it easier. Didn't work." He sighed. "I kept looking for ideas, but nothing gelled. And... not quite a week ago, I found out that Genma'd sold my hand again. A... foreign lady." _Mom's not cleared for Magical World stuff. Gotta be careful about mentioning it._

Nodoka's eyes narrowed. "He did? I... see." Her expression turned to a snarl for a moment. "Your father and I had an... _understanding_ about that subject before he left on his latest training trip."

Ranma felt a tiny glimmer of hope.

"He has also been... acting with dishonor in this area."

"He has fer years."

She shot him a look, then her expression went very blank for a moment. "I had not realized he was still... complicating the situation. He told me he would no longer do so, because it reflects poorly on the honor of the Saotome family. Why did you not tell me before?"

_Kuso. _"Well, honestly? I was afraid you'd take his side. You agreed to our first training trip, and the terms of the 'man among men' oath in the first place." He braced himself, ready for an explosion.

It didn't come. "Perhaps... I trusted him too much, then. And yet, despite his... questionable actions, you are still a fine young man. I am _not_ happy about this situation, but I think the blame falls more heavily on my husband than it does on you. I shall have to have a _talk_ with him, when next I see him." There was a hefty weight of venom on the word 'talk.'

Ranma let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "So you ain't gonna ask me ta commit sepukku over this?"

"There are clearly... complications... in this situation." A pause, then, "But my son, please, do not give up on the idea of marriage. I want grandchildren someday. Preferably while I am still young enough to enjoy it."

"Ah, I'll keep that in mind."

0_O

Dai Maller popped a ball of deep fried sea critter in his mouth and chewed happily. _You know, sergeant, if nothing else, this planet can at least come up with lots of nice food._

_ That it can_, replied Aston telepathically. He wasn't quite as relaxed as his subordinate – the old soldier almost never was – but he seemed to be enjoying the morning, too.

The day had started more or less normally for the Bureau marines. Nothing too spectacular had happened last night. Ranma'd been... a bit odd, a bit distant, and there was a great big silence that nobody'd dared to break around that whole subject. He'd tried to telepathically talk with the younger man, and while he knew Ranma'd heard his attempts at conversation, the martial artist hadn't responded. He started munching on another ball as he pondered that again.

His musing was interrupted by an unholy uproar spilling into the street a few blocks up.

_What in the hells is that? _Sent Dai as he looked at the bounding little man.

_I think... oh, shit. _Aston dug Brass Claw out of his pocket and engaged the Device. _It's Happosai. Remember our briefing? One of the guys who trained Ranma, he's a lunatic, a perv, and totally fearless. Likes stealing ladies' underwear._

_ Perv? Maybe. Fearless? I doubt it._ Dai's response was incredulous, but he dug out Carabin Grasp anyway. Behind Happosai, they could see a very large crowd of very angry women round a corner and roar in hot pursuit – their prey sighted.

_He's taken a crack at the White Devil at least twice that I know about._

_ Twice? _Dai blinked._ Okay, fearless it is. And insane._

The diminutive martial arts master spotted them then. "Oho! A fine day, isn't it, lads? Tell me, are you two with the bunch of _gaijin_ training under my student Ranma?"

A feeling of nameless dread began to trickle down Dai's spine as he nodded mutely, unsure exactly where this was going.

The old man cackled. "Excellent! Here, m'boy, catch!" He threw the large sack he was carrying at Aston and bounded away. By reflex, the Staff Sergeant caught the projectile.

Aston looked at the top of the bag, blanched, threw the bag to Dai, and took to the skies.

Dai Maller, off balance and more than a little confused. Looked at the bag of... something... in his arms with an expression of incomprehension. Then he realized what was sticking out of the bag's neck: one end of a rather daring, lacy red bra. He looked to the howling horde of women, which had altered course towards him, then back to the bag.

Comprehension dawned, and with it horror. "Oh," he said. "Oh, _shit._"

He threw the bag into the front ranks of the horde, then tossed up his strongest shield. It kept the vengeful fists and feet of wronged women from connecting, but the tidal wave of angry females still drove him to the pavement.

After a long moment someone called off the horde. Squinting, he saw Kia, her expression one of close-harbored fury, but not, he thought, directed at him personally. Voice slightly muffled by the ringing in his ears and the interposing shield, he heard her say, "Get up, Maller, we've got a pervert to skin."

He dropped the shield and took her offered hand-up. "Thanks. The freak got you too?"

"Yes. What did he want from you?"

"I'm guessing a scapegoat. He saw us, asked if we were Saotome's students, and threw his bag of stuff at Aston. Who threw it at me and took off, the coward." That last was pitched to carry, over his shoulder. The Sergeant was descending now, legs wrapped in the little blue winglets of his flight spell. His landing set the crowd of women abuzz.

"Under the circumstances, a tactical withdraw felt appropriate. You, ah, recover your goods, Kia?"

The bluenette shook her head, growling, "No. It's wasn't in the main bag. Either it fell out or he's still got it."

A passerby spoke up in resigned tones as she picked through the pile for her own underwear. "That old lecher probably still has it, he doesn't like losing all his stash at once."

Kia's voice was full of confidence and determination. "Then we're going to get them back. All of them."

* * *

"Happi's back in town? Figures. Like my life wasn't complicated enough." Ranma looked resigned as he listened to the marines. "I better deal with him before I start getting angry calls wondering why I ain't done it already." He gave a tired sigh and put down his pen, closing the ledger he'd been updating. "Let's hurry. I got classes soon."

The troupe – Ranma, Aston's squad, and half a dozen women with similar grudges, hurried to the street where the old letch had dumped his precious cargo and ran. Ranma cast about with his ki and turned that little factoid over in his mind as he tried to feel out a ki trail. Happi didn't like to give up his trophies, and he knew from long experience that the old letch thought nothing of challenging martial artists and mages of frighteningly great power. For him to ditch his booty... Some passing distraction? A trap? Kamis – him genuinely trying to 'help' Ranma teach his students? Given what he'd said to Aston it was at least a slight possibility.

_Would be typical of his thinking, given some of Soun an' the Panda's old stories about him. Still. I ain't exactly thrilled with him trying to appropriate my students._

Kia was working on a searching spell, with a little help from Kal. Interesting squad dynamic, really. Kia and Dai were mostly fire support, in their abilities. Aston was just plain a good fighter, skills backed up by experience and zero qualms about dirty tricks. Kal... was sort of a jack of all trades. He wasn't much of a fighter, but he seemed to think _sideways, _even compared to the other mages. He was coming up with some fun tricks because of it.

Kia's search spell dispatched, a little ball of orange light zipping around Tokyo, the bunch of them were off again, as Ranma picked up Happosai's trail. Annoyingly, he was more or less limited to retracing the old letch's steps slowly; the little bastard had gotten good about not leaving a whole lot of energy behind, anymore, and Ranma had to be careful not to blot out the traces with his own ki.

And, like the last time he'd had to track down the old letch like this, he got the niggling sense that if the old man was _really_ trying, he wouldn't leave any trail to follow at all. It'd be in character for him to keep testing Ranma for his own amusement, even after declaring him a master.

Still. Between himself and Aston, they could probably match the old letch in a straight fight. The rest of the squad, and the more ambitious victims, would probably clinch things, assuming they could get Happi on the ropes before he could start drawing too heavily on their female battle auras.

The trail seemed to peter out, and Ranma slowed, putting greater care into his search. "Hang on a sec, people. T' old letch's trail's faint..."

Aston looked like he was about to reply when Kia's little orange ball of light popped back into view. "LONG RANGE SEARCH SUCCESSFUL. COORDINATES ARE SPECIFIC." With a war-whoop, the mage raced off. _She's usin' some of the tricks I taught her,_ Ranma thought absently as the ground mage used a spell to enhance her speed and jumping ability. Aston did a double take and gave a look like he was mentally calling for her to wait up, then swore under his breath.

"Looks like we'd best follow." The crowd of women had already started doing so, charging off in the mage's wake.

"Yeah," agreed Ranma, and he raced ahead, catching up quickly. Matching pace with the furious mage, he asked, "You got a plan, Kia?"

"Yeah," she replied without breaking stride. "Blast him till he glows and fry the rest."

"Wow. That's a harsher reaction than he usually gets, an' that's sayin' something."

"I've spent a week getting ready for my date with Bond tonight, and he went and stole half my preparation. I spent a _lot _of money on it, too. He doesn't get away that easy."

Ranma did a double take, nearly crashing into a dumpster. "Okay, that was too much information."

"I'm sorry if I offended you, Saotome," she began sarcastically, "We're almost there."

Ahead, he could see what looked like a warehouse loading dock area. Bursting out of the alley, the two of them both made straight for the south side of it – this close, Ranma's ki senses were picking up the old letch, and Kia's search spell giving her a location anyway. "Okay ya old letch," shouted Ranma, "Gig's up."

The little bastard bounded from a notch in the roof, hurling half a dozen Happo Bombs. "Why go after a tired old man, Ranma? I'm just trying to find a little joy in my life."

Ranma snapped off a ki blast, destroying the bombs before they had a chance to spread out. "When ya start interferin' with my trainin,' I get irritated." He was vaguely aware that Kia had planted herself a few strides ago, felt her gathering power.

"You are not the only master of Anything Goes, Saotome." Suddenly, a bucket's worth of water was flying towards him.

Ranma dodged it. "Aston's bunch ain't here ta learn Anything Goes, They're here fer Mahou Shojou Ryu. You _ain't_ a master'a that."

That actually shut Happosai up for a few moments. The old master bounded back, out of Ranma's reach, looking honestly thoughtful. "I didn't think of that. No hard feelings, eh, boy? I was just trying to help."

Kia invited herself to the conversation. "There's hard feelings all right! _Archon Pulse Blast!_" The power she'd been slowly building for the last several seconds went off, a stream of head-sized orange blasts firing machine-gun like from the tip of her staff. Happi tried to dodge them, but the stream of magic turned to follow him, and at least six of the bolts hit, sending him crashing into, and through, the roof of a tractor-trailer trailer.

The bluenette ran for the truck as Ranma swooped down. "Feelin' better?"

"Almost." They neared the truck as Aston, Dai, and Kal reached the far side of the loading area.

Suddenly, Ranma felt power surge. "Whoah! Hang on, Kia, I think-!"

He was interrupted as the trailer tore in half, a rapidly growing Happosai roaring his anger and defiance. The hundred-foot-tall little old man tore the axle off the trailer with frighteningly casual ease, and hurled it towards the three male mages. Dai managed a snap shot, blowing the axle to pieces, Kal and Aston threw up shields, catching the debris heading towards them.

Kia scrambled away from a massive, stamping foot, swearing viciously. The giant took a swipe at her, moving faster than anything his size had a right to be, connected, sending the mage skyward. In the distance, Aston took off after her.

_"Moko Takibasha!"_ shouted Ranma as he loosed a ki blast, hitting Happi square in the back.

The giant turned towards him, and produced a Happo Bomb that was large even by the scale of Happi himself. He lobbed it towards the aquatransexual with a deep, bass boom of _"Happo Fire Burst!"_

_ Bomb that big'll do a lot of damage... Gotta deal with this. _Ranma blasted into the sky, getting himself under the bomb and trying to shove it up and away, calculating the usual fuse length against his ability to get clear.

* * *

"And I thought the giant monsters only went after this city in monster movies," muttered Kal. "Think there's any chance we could snare 'im with some bind spells?"

"Even if we could, he probably knows how to break 'em. He's gone after lady mages often enough." Dai slapped a speedloader of cartridges into Carabin Grasp and shouldered the Device again, his goggles flipping into place at a mental command. "I think the plan is pound him 'till he drops." The familiar, reassuring _chunka-chunka-chunka_ of loading cartridges sent a surge of power into his system. _At least right now, I don't have to piss around with Saotome's wacky ideas about fighting,_ he thought, _It's time to do what I do best._

Blue runes flared in a circle as he burned through the speedloader, channeled his own power as well. This was no time for half-measures.

High above, Ranma gave the bomb he was holding a swift kick, then shot downwards at speed. Half a second later, as he leveled out, it exploded with fire and fury, rattling windows but not breaking anything. _Probably for the best._ That seemed to annoy the elderly titan they were fighting, who sent a ki blast at Ranma, hitting the martial artist cleanly. The blue-glowing form was distinctly shakey in the air as it streaked out of the blast, dropping out of Dai's line of sight.

As Dai's spell hit its peak of power, Happosai turned towards them, wearing an expression of rage. "Time to give another lesson to impudent students," he rumbled.

"That's nice. _Heavy Blaster Barrel!_" The energy bolt was potent – a beam of blue-white energy the approximate thickness of a closed fist, concentrated massively. It shot across the loading area, bathing everything in light, and slammed into the old man's forehead like the back hand of the Sankt Herself.

Meer B-ranked ground mage or not, Dai was damn good at using what power he had.

Happosai howled in outrage, whatever trick he'd used to make himself grow unraveling. He shrank as he backpeddled, finally toppling when he was down to twenty feet; tripping over someone's moped.

Carabin Grasp vented steam and ejected spent brass.

Then the little bastard picked himself up off the pavement and hurled the moped at him.

Kal reacted fast; throwing an angled shield with one hand and a bind with the other. The moped bounced off the shield with a sound of crumpling metal, crashing down behind him as he slapped another speedloader home. The bind either didn't take, or the little bastard was _really _good at slipping them, already charging towards them-

A broad sweep of energy streaked in from on high, slamming down against the concrete just behind the charging martial arts master; the sergeant's work. Didn't even stumble him. _Not good. Not good, not good not good-_

Blades of glowing orange jutting from her back and legs, Kia Rio swooped down, her Device in Staff Mode, wound up for a hail mary swing. Her diminutive target tried to lunge at her chest with a cry of "Sweeto!" but misjudged her speed. The heavy end of her staff connected with his torso, accompanied by the sound of a spell discharging. It broke the little man's charge, but didn't drop him.

_"Moko Takibasha!"_

The blue beam caught Happi square in the back, slamming the man into the asphalt hard enough to leave a six-foot crater. Before he could recover, Ranma came crashing down on him, planting both feet on the back of his head.

"Now stay down, ya old letch."

Kia swooped back in, slowing to an unsteady hover, then dropping to the ground, grinning widely.

"How'd you manage that, Rio?" asked Dai. "When did they promote you to air mage?"

Her grin was too bright and happy to be affected by his grousing. "Some of the stuff Saotome and Tsukino've been teaching us... kind of gelled."

Aston touched down much more smoothly. "Congratulations, Private. Keep paying attention, because I'm going to throw you headlong into a certification exam when we get home."

"An' I'm gonna be pilin' on more lessons. Aerial combat's a whole new canna worms." Ranma's grin was toothy.

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Glad ta hear it. Help me get him to t' cops, an' we'll make him cough up where he stashed yer stuff."

O_0

Akane Tendo paused for a moment at the door of the Saotome Dojo before entering, forcing up her nerve. She wasn't running back to beg. And she didn't desperately need him to take her back. She was here because she wanted to be, for her own reasons, and if Ranma couldn't handle that, well, to hell with him.

It was between his regular classes, and she doubted he'd picked up any extra classes or personal lessons in the last couple days. She was right; the Dojo proper was empty. Walking through it, she could hear Ranma talking to someone in his office. It was a one-sided conversation; so probably the phone. The butterflies in her stomach started zipping around at speed as she approached the opened door, and she took a deep breath before walking in.

He looked tired, and a bit surprised. She hadn't surprised him with her approach, of course, and he made a 'one moment please' gesture as he glanced over. "I see... Yes, Inspector Kaga I... Of course I will... As soon a I hear anything... Yes, I'll be looking into it... Thank you... You too." He hung up and closed his eyes, one hand massaging at his forehead. "Heya, 'Kane. Didn't expect to see ya anytime soon."

"What was that about?"

"Gosunkugi – you know, he made good on that 'police' thing he was making noise about doin' a while back? Anyway, sound's like he vanished in t' middle of a stakeout last night. His boss figured I might know something, I was takin' care of Happi when he called, so I called back." A sigh. "Anyway. What brings ya down here?"

_I love you. I need you. I want you to take me back. And I couldn't bring myself to say it that way before... because I have just as many pride issues as you do. _"Usagi tells me you need a teaching assistant, still."

His expression was unreadable. "Could sure use one. It's a complicated class. I, ah, wasn't sure you'd still be interested, considering... Well, considering."

_Which is probably as close as he can bring himself to say it, too. _"Don't get me wrong, Saotome, I'm still angry with you. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't like the extra money assisting you brings in."

"I understand." A pause. "Can you start back tonight?" His tone and expression were guarded, but hopeful.

"Of course. I assume the times haven't changed?"

"Nope, same times." A long pause, as he struggled to frame a statement. "I... appreciate that you're willing to do this. I... Could have handled everything better, I think. I just couldn't work out a better way at t' time. Hindsight."

"I understand." A pause of her own. "Nabiki told me what you told her. And Kasumi mentioned that this Kendra came by the house, so I think I believe you."

"Thanks. And... Kendra came by. Huh. That's... possibly not good."

"We're big girls, Ranma. We'll be careful." She waved a brief goodby and left, and made it about half a block before burbling joy overtook her. Laughing and whooping, she took to the rooftops as she made her way back to campus for her afternoon classes. Decorum be damned, She was happy, and she'd enjoy this.

0_O

_What a difference a day makes_, sent Kia to the rest of the group as they went through their start-of-class stretches.

Aston silently agreed. Tendo was back, and if she and Saotome were being more formal than normal with each other, well, the aquatransexual didn't have the harried, dead-on-his-feet air he'd sported the night before. Clearly, something had changed for him today; something for the better.

And the marine had a sneaking suspicion that if the Bureau had wanted to recruit Ranma, their best chance was gone. Still, that sort of decision wasn't made at his pay grade.

_Minds on the job, everyone. If he can concentrate again, he's probably going to make up for 'going easy' on us last time. Especially you, Rio._

_ I thought he'd gone on record as saying this Dojo was too small to teach aerial combat in._

_ Doesn't mean he can't push you on other things. You know the traditional reward for a hard job well done._

_ Details. I can fly _and_ I get a hot date tonight. You can't discourage me._

Dai glanced towards Kal. _I liked her better when she was the strong 'I don't need no S.O.s, I'm an independent woman' type._

Her reply was the telepathic equivalent of blowing a raspberry.

Ranma called things to order soon enough. Unlike last night, he was at least trying to get a bit of banter going, but it wasn't really working. Tsukino was clearly still a little angry with him, and he and Tendo seemed awfully... hesitant about what they said to one another, like each was afraid of offending. Kia made a note to try and chat with the dark haired woman later, and see if she couldn't get some intel on exactly what happened two nights ago.

Still. Awkward and uneasy as things were, once the class proper got started, everything began to flow. They got through the warm ups and the usual first round of sparring just fine, though, as the Sergeant had predicted – damn his hide – Saotome and Tsukino both were being extra critical, heaping advice upon her to further tweak what she'd learned.

It was actually kind of cool, all things considered. She'd not been really challenged in a tactical class since-

"Well, Ranma, I'm impressed. This is a fine little setup."

_Oh Sankt Kaiser no..._

As one, the marines froze, slowly turning towards the door, where two women stood framed in the doorway. Both had long hair, and both smiled beatifically, angelic looks belying the truth.

"Hey, Nanoha; Fate." Ranma sounded happy.

_What in southeast hell is the White Devil doing on this rock?_ Asked Dai.

_I'd heard the two of them were on leave,_ replied Aston as he paled. _This _is _her homeworld. I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised._

_ They could have warned us. Hard as Saotome works us, I don't even want to know what he's going to do in concert with her._

LaFleur, Jones, and Bond were trying to hold in laughter as they spotted the Marine's reaction. The poor fools didn't know.

"We would have come along sooner, but you know how it goes."

"Life's gotta habit's doing that. Vivio with ya?"

"Not tonight. She's with her aunt tonight. Anyway. One trainer to another, I'd like to see your technique."

"Pull up some chairs."

_Sankt Kaiser be praised._

* * *

A few introductions had been made, and Saotome had continued with the lesson. Thankfully, he didn't decide to change things up too much because of his observer. Jones found the whole thing interesting, and tried to remember what little he knew of Nanoha Takamachi and Fate Testarossa-Haralowan. He'd skimmed their (annoyingly brief) files when he'd been told he was looking into Bureau marines. He knew they were both powerhouses – there was some damned impressive archive footage of both of them destroying Bradesons mechs singlehandedly – but beyond that, there wasn't much but school records for the two of them.

The fact that Takamachi appeared to flat out terrify the unflappable Sergeant Aston was amusing. She was supposed to be a trainer of some sort, and if so, she was the cutest drill sergeant nasty he'd ever seen.

And interestingly, Takamachi, Haralowan, and Saotome had the kind of banter he normally associated with veterans who'd been through seven kinds of hell together. He was _really_ looking forward to tomorrow morning's ohgod-o'clock lesson. He and LaFleur could double-team Saotome and get that story out of him. It would almost certainly be both personally and professionally... interesting. And Bond would almost certainly miss the chance because he was constitutionally incapable of being professional enough to forgo pleasure in order to do his job. Nothing short of a natural disaster would keep him from his date with the admittedly attractive Kia Rio. The bastard was predictable.

By about the halfway point of the lesson everyone was relaxed and, for the most part, things felt like the earlier lessons. Tsukino and Tendo were both relaxed and happy. It was look-

-The dojo shook at the sound of a massive explosion, and for a moment, everyone froze. Saotome was the first in motion, a red-and-black blur racing for the door. It triggered a mass exodus. Bolting hard for the street, Jones was a few steps behind LaFleur, and almost bounced off the Quebicois as the wiry man stopped dead, right behind Saotome.

Ranma was looking down the street, face drawn in shock. Three blocks down, an apartment building was engulfed in flame, flames that were threatening to spread to a neighboring building. The small man swore viciously.

LaFleur swore with him, and Jones himself was suddenly struck with recognition.

"That's Ukyo's building," said Ranma, as he took off towards the fire.


	10. Chapter Nine

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no claim to them. Please don't sue._

Chapter Nine

Nanoha Takamachi had fought fires before. Doing so held no terror for her. It did, however, hold a _lot_ of terror for little Alicia, growing in her belly. She ached to charge right in, to start pulling people out, but she dared not. A shared glance with Fate told her that she felt likewise. Still. She could take charge. _Aston, Rio, Saotome; start evacuating the upper floors. Tsukino, McLaren, prepare to treat casualties. Maller, ground floor evacuation._ Then, in a private aside to Fate, _We can keep it from spreading, and see if we can't suppress the flames somehow._ Another thought to the group. _Acknowledge._

The marines responded more or less immediately, in the affirmative, as did Usagi. Aston's reply was tinged with curiosity, and sudden realization – presumably he'd just remembered that she and Fate were on maternity leave.

Ranma's response was a mental snarl, then he poured on his considerable speed and vanished into the ground floor of the building. Nanoha resisted the urge to swear.

* * *

The dining room of Ukyo's restaurant was a smoke-filled, luridly lit horror. It looked like somebody had trashed the place even before lighting it on fire. A couple customers were sprawled, unconscious. The grill was blackened, fire gouting from below it. Nobody, thank the kamis, was behind it in that inferno. There were a pair of gouges in the doorframe, one framing blackened wood, the other exposing concrete that had been fused to a glassy sheen.

Konatsu was in the kitchen, his plasma pistol, the muzzle glowing white hot still, lying near one hand where he was sprawled, one arm at an angle that spoke of it being broken. There was a ward of some kind on the door to the storeroom. Ranma didn't pause for anything fancy. The sigl that anchored it was carved into the frame of the door; he shattered it with a blow, then ripped the wooden door off its hinges. Inside, Ukyo lay sprawled, unconscious, with her hands and feet bound in chord and an ugly lump on her head. He snapped the chords, lifted her, turned.

Akane was in the kitchen, lifting Konatsu with care. "Whoever did this was no pushover."

"Yeah." Quickly and carefully, they made their way out of the kitchen. Aston and Dai were in the dining room, picking up the customers. "Thanks."

The staff sergeant glanced over. "We like this restaurant."

"The White Devil's not happy with you. We're gonna use you as cover," added Dai as he pulled a salaryman into a fireman's carry.

"Fair 'nuff."

They emerged into the night air, its relative coolness a blessed balm. Usagi, in full Princess mode, had the start of a treatment area already. She was calling out instructions in imperious tones, and already bystanders were giving up jackets for those who were fleeing the building. Ranma laid Ukyo down gently and exchanged nods with Usagi before turning back to the building.

Nanoha and Fate were airborne, probably doing something to isolate the fire. Ranma went airborne as well, wishing not for the first time that he'd figured out Mushi's fire-extinguishing-push trick. For the moment, he settled for aiming for an upper story window, and flew in, looking for more people who needed help getting out.

* * *

_This is not what I signed up for,_ thought LaFleur as he watched his sensei charge into a burning building. "Now what?"

Michael Jones looked similarly conflicted. "Time to pretend we're more than just spies."

_Easy for you to say, yank, you look all stereotypically heroic. I'm no hero. I'm not even an assassin any more. This shit is not my line. _For a long moment, he froze in place, watched the drama unfold.

Then he heard a child cry out from above. His gaze jerked upwards. Leaning out of a fifth story window was a little girl who looked perhaps ten, backlit by flames. Long years of infiltration took in the face of the building. There was no fire escape or other convenient way up, and no way for an ordinary person get to her. All of the fliers were occupied.

_Who gives a damn if you're a freak, Marceau? Even you aren't this much of a louse._

No ladder, no fire escape... but there was footing... He charged forward. _Saotome says I can do this shit when I'm not thinking about it. Well, time to do it deliberately. Not like being a freak could stain my soul worse than my job, now or then._

He jumped as he neared the wall, managed to snag a windowsill at the second-story level. He swung up to it, did a standing jump to the next, and again. Close watchers might have observed flickers of green light around him as he moved. Reaching the girl, he said, in Japanese mangled by adrenaline, "Calm, girl. Safety take you to I will."

Her response was to throw her arms around her neck, and babble something incomprehensible in Japanese. With one arm, he held her tight, then leaned away from the growing flame within the apartment. And realized how high he was, and how few handholds there were. "Tabarnak."

_Nothing to lose by my life. And hers. _Balancing carefully, he dropped to the next sill, catching himself. Dropping again and again, and finally dropping to the ground, landing in a roll, coming to a stop on his back. The girl, lying against his chest, scrambled away. For a moment, he lay there, considering what he'd just done.

_There might just be a little bit of hero in me, after all._

* * *

Fate hadn't called up a storm in years.

She knew she could do it, she knew she could do it well and make it work. And that it was the best thing she could do right now; mindful as she was of the daughter growing inside her. Surrounded by amber runes, she began her work.

She concentrated, bringing her power to bear on the sky above and to shape it. She took a delicate touch; calling lightning was _easy_, but lightning she did not want. She called the clouds together, called them to thicken and grow. Slowly and deliberately, she tugged at them, pulled them into a useful shape.

Finally, the clouds reached their critical mass. With a gesture, she set them loose, a deluge centered on the block.

* * *

Kia Rio flew unsteadily as she carried a mother and child from the top floor. _Okay, this is way harder than the Sergeant makes it look. How the hell does Aston do it? _She settled to the ground, set the two down on the pavement. Tsukino – and Sankt Kaiser, how did she managed to be both inspiring and terrifying in a ballgown of all things- had a decent little triage area set up, where she was healing them. Most everyone was hurting from burns or smoke inhalation.

There were sirens approaching; emergency services, it seemed. Better late than never. Taking a moment to steady herself, she launched into the air again, exchanged nods with Takamachi, and looked over the face of the building, looking for her next rescuee as the rains began.

As she looked, she saw Bond leap from a ground floor window, the flames belching out after him, looking like the star of some holovid as he landed neatly, some poor helpless innocent cradled in his arms. Despite the flames, his outfit looked almost untouched.

He was impressive. _Damned_ impressive, especially for an ordinary man. And this fire more or less guaranteed that their date was off, at least for tonight.

She was going to find out who was responsible, and she was going to _destroy them._

* * *

Ranma was soaked to the skin, her sleeves and pants cuffs were charred, she stunk of smoke, her scars ached from proximity to the sheer amount of raw magic Usagi radiated in Princess mode(to say nothing of the major barriers Nanoha had thrown up, and Fate's storm summoning.) Her ki sense told her there wasn't anyone else alive still in the building, and a count of the people she, her students, a few heroic bystanders, and the fire fighters had pulled out seemed to match what her sense of numbers had been. Though she couldn't quite shake the feeling that somehow, they'd missed someone. That was going to haunt her, come nightfall. Not that she'd been sleeping well, these last few nights, to begin with.

But so far as she could tell, they'd gotten it done. Usagi had gotten the worst-injured healed already. Paramedics were looking over the rest. Two fire engines were hosing down the building, finishing what Fate had started. Adrenaline crashing, Ranma just wanted to sleep for about a week, now. But she couldn't just do that now. She felt a nagging responsibility to make sure everyone got taken care of, and a burning need to figure out who had done this.

As she walked among the suddenly-homeless, semi-dry under another barrier Nanoha had put up, she ran across the woman herself. "Hey. Uh, sorry fer ignorin' you at the start, but..." She gestured towards Ukyo, who was standing at the edge of the barrier, staring into her smoldering restaurant.

"I understand. And, really, it's not like you're in my chain of command." Nanoha's smile turned wry. "And it reminds me of something Admiral Haralowan once told me."

"Which one?"

"Lindy. 'May you have a dozen subordinates _just like you._'"

That drew a giggle from the tired martial artist. "I can see it. Listen, I ran into some kinda ward in there."

The brunette glanced up. "Oh?"

"Somebody'd tossed Uuchan into her supply room, knocked out, an' put a ward on t' door ta keep anyone from breakin' out."

That gave her Nanoha's full attention. "How did you get through it?"

"Brute force. Didn't think I had time ta take it apart properly, so I just destroyed the anchor rune."

Nanoha was silent a long moment. "Once they get the fire out, we'll have to take a closer look. With McLaren and Aston along as well."

"Yeah." A pause. "Look, I gotta check on somebody, catch up with ya soon."

She moved on, passed a few residents of the building, graciously accepted the thanks one man offered. Stalling. She didn't want to do this, and she knew she must. Nervously, she walked up to Ukyo. "You okay?" she asked, bracing for an outburst.

The chef glanced at her; did a double take. "Someone attacked me and burned down my home. What do you think, Ranma?"

"Sorry, knew it was a stupid thing ta say, I just..." She sighed and slumped in place. "I'm sorry. You probably don't wanna talk to me anyway... I'll go check on Konatsu." The redhead turned to go.

One hand caught her arm. "Why'd you charge in after me?"

Ranma blinked, confused. "Huh? Why wouldn't I?"

"I... I thought you hated me." Tears were starting to well in Ukyo's eyes now.

"Not that, Ukyo," said Ranma with conviction. "Never that. I care. I just... not the way you wanted me to."

The chef seemed to collapse in on herself, sobbing. Unthinking, Ranma caught her, hugged her close. Ukyo buried her face into Ranma's shoulder and wept. She'd thrown herself into her work, used it as an anchor to simply not _feel_, for the last two days. Without it, she wept. She wept for her dreams. She wept for her home. She wept for her clan, perhaps never to be avenged. She wept for her restaurant, devoured by the flames. She wept for her life, shattered around her. Ranma held her close, not knowing what, if anything, to say in response to her torrent of tears and words. Somewhere in that rant, Akane and Konatsu had joined the group hug, lending their friend what strength they could by proximity.

After a time, Ukyo managed to collect herself. "I... Sorry. That was..."

"Totally justified, under the circumstances," interrupted Akane.

"Did either of ya see who did this?"

Konatsu nodded. "Some kind of sorceress. Gaijin, I think, though I did not get a good look. She came in throwing spells. I could barely draw and fire before she took me down."

"I think I got a few shots in myself," said Ukyo, "Before she hit me. Memory's a little fuzzy."

"You had a concussion, I think," said Ranma. "Kuso." _I got a bad feeling I know who did this..._

Akane asked, "Do you two have a place to stay, tonight?"

The chef shook her head.

"We've got spare rooms at the Tendo Dojo. If you're willing."

Ukyo managed a smile. "Thank you." A pause, then she glanced at Ranma. "Are you going to find the one who did this?"

"Kamis, yes. And we're gonna make 'em pay."

* * *

The comms board on the patrol frigate _Megan_ pinged to life in the middle of a dull shift. _"Staff Sergeant Tomas Aston to _Megan_, come in please."_

Ensign Morris, grateful for the interruption of his boredom, punched the comm. "_Megan_ to Sergeant Aston, we read you. How may I direct your call?"

_"I need to speak to the bridge duty officer, or the sensor tech. It's urgent." _

Morris blinked, checked the chrono. _It has to be nightfall down there. What the hell does this groundpounder think could be urgent? _"Ah, acknowledged, Sergeant. One moment." Mumbling something about self-important gropos, he was about to page Lieutenant Lambo when the man leaned in at his console.

"What's going on, Ensign?"

He swallowed his mumbles. "Ah, not sure Lieutenant. Some marine downside says he needs to speak to you urgently."

The lieutenant stuck out a hand. Belatedly, Morris handed over his headset.

"This is Lieutenant Lambo speaking. What's the situation, Marine?"

_"Are you guys still tracking that energy trace we called in a couple days back, in connection to some local trouble?"_

"We are. We got a double-ping of it about an hour ago."

The marine swore, then _"Let me guess. The ping matches my current position."_

"I'll double check." He pressed the pause/break key, then turned to the sensor tech, who was also paying attention, having noticed the growing sense of unease on the bridge. "Hilux, compare those pings with the Sergeant's position."

"Three seconds, El Tee." The bluenette bent over her console for a moment. "It's almost a dead-on match." A pause, then she bent over the sensor board again. "Calling up everything we have on the back-trace."

Lambo hit the pause/break again. "Sergeant, you guessed right. We're working the back-trace. What's the situation?"

_"Some yokel spellslinger just tried to murder a building full of people. The fire-suppression systems never kicked in. At least a few people were deliberately disabled and left inside before the fire got started. I'm betting those two facts are connected."_

It was Lambo's turn to swear. "No bet here. We'll forward our data to you soonest."

_"Thanks, _Megan._ Sergeant Aston, out."_

* * *

"They don't have a complete trace yet. The signal hits some interesting dimensional variables and goes wonky." Aston sounded grim.

McLaren grumbled, "If that's the case, why not _tell us_ when they found out? Why just file that shit away?"

"We're ground pounders, they're space rats. Why tell us any damned thing, not like we'd understand the big words." Kia's voice dropped to a vaguely obscene mumble.

The squad, along with Ranma and Nanoha, were standing before the building. Between the storm and the firefighters, the blaze was down to a dull smolder, and they were waiting on the all-clear to go in along with the fire department's own investigators. They were feeling grim. Fate and Usagi would be joining them shortly, but for the moment they were talking with the ambulance crews.

"Can you sort anything out of here yet, Kal? Saotome?"

"Not a thing," said Ranma. "Usagi, Nanoha, an' Fate've swamped out anything I could see."

"Traces," said McLaren. "I'd have to get into the building."

"I know a spot you gotta take a look at," said Ranma.

"Good."

For a long moment they stood in silence, alone with their thoughts and waited. The inspectors joined them, including the Tokyo PD rep – Inspector Kaga. "Saotome."

"Inspector."

"I should probably raise a stink about jurisdiction and the fact that this isn't an issue for the Bureau, but at this point..." He shook his head. "This situation has the same stink as the incident at the Kunos." He glanced between Nanoha and Aston, clearly trying to decide which of them was in charge. "At this point, I'll take whatever help I can get. My only expert is missing in action, and I'll welcome any help you can give." A pause, and a mutter of "I can't believe I'm saying this... Saotome, keep us in the loop. At the moment, I'm going to trust your judgment."

Ranma blinked. _Didn't expect that. _"I'll do my best ta be worthy of it."

* * *

"Saotome, what the hell did you do to this?"

"I punched it."

Kal crouched next to what had been the frame to Ukyo's storeroom door, inspecting the bricks that bore the remains of the anchor rune, runes of his own floating around them. "You're kidding."

Ranma shrugged. "I punched it _really hard. _My friend was on the other side, knocked out, an' t' place was on fire."

"Can you get anything out of it?" Aston sounded calm, but from the look in his eyes, he was worried.

"From the traces I can see, I _think_ it's a match to whatever knocked over that mansion across town." A sigh. "It'd be a better read if they hadn't made us wait most of an hour before letting us come in." He glanced at Ranma. "I don't suppose you know anything about that other incident?"

"I gotta theory about that. I know you guys've read my file, ya know about the fiancees thing."

"Yes?" Aston's tone was patient, leading.

"Looks like Pops added another gal to the bunch on his latest trip. A mage lady. She swung by the dojo t'night before classes started. I turned her down."

"You think it was her?"

"Konatsu says they got jumped by a foreign mage. Odds are good."

"Interesting. She strike you as the sort to do this?"

"She struck me as... well, delusional. Hadda really odd view of t' world. Sorta thing that can turn... violent."

"Wonderful."

Inspector Kaga picked his way through the remains of the dining room. "Just a little update; the sprinklers didn't kick in because somebody melted the pump used to power them. Even without the Kuonji woman's testimony, this is looking like arson."

"Yeah. An' we've spotted some stuff that says it might be connected with t' thing at the Kunos."

"Beyond the connection with you?"

"Somethin' more concrete than that."

"Good. We need something to work with. Anything a layman'll understand?"

Kal didn't even look up from the rune-circle he was manipulating. "The magical equivalent of fingerprints. Not a hundred percent sure yet, your people didn't let me get a good enough look at the first place."

"You expecting an apology for that, _gaijin_?"

"Not really. I know how jurisdictional crap goes down. No solutions and lots of finger pointing."

Aston growled, "McLaren, you're out of line." He glanced to Kaga. "Apologies, Inspector."

"Compared to some of my specialists, Sergeant, that was downright polite. Forget it." A pause. "We're all on edge."

"Thank you."

Kaga bowed out, giving Ranma a mutter to make sure he forwarded a copy of his report _straight_ to the Inspectors own personal desk.

Dai dope-slapped McLaren. "Why are you trying to create problems, Kal? Do you _want_ to bring the Ground Patrol down on us?"

Kal was about to snarl back when they were interrupted by the ringing of Ranma's cell phone. The redhead pulled it from her pocket. "Ranma here."

The answering voice was Soun Tendo's, strained, tired, and shocky. "Saotome... help..."

O_0

Ranma was outrunning her backup. She knew it was stupid, she knew it was foolhardy... but she couldn't _not._ She was rocketing along, faster than she'd ever tried to fly before, barely above the rooftops, and the Tokyo City Ordinances against people flying around could be good and damned.

Fate was keeping pace; were she trying, she could easily beat Ranma to the Tendo Dojo – but she was thinking for two, and Ranma did not begrudge her that. Nanoha and Usagi where in their wake, steadily losing ground. Aston and Kia were well behind, the Sergeant staying back to aid his subordinate should her still-clumsy flight spell fail. Dai, Kal, Kaga, and the spies were following at what speed they could manage, in a squad car.

The flight couldn't have taken more than ten minutes, but it felt so much longer as the Tendo Dojo finally hove into view. Even from here, closing at speed, Ranma could see that a battle had been fought. The walls were holed; the back yard torn up. She could see a gaping hole in the roof, its edges marked with the impossibly clean cuts only a vacuum blade could make. Ranma descended through the roof, alighted in the wreckage of the living room.

Bleeding from a wound to his belly, his sword, broken, lying beside him, Soun Tendo was slumped against the wall. Unconsious, ki running thin, but still strong enough to mark him as alive. Ranma took hold of one shoulder, gently shook him. "Hey, Soun, wake up."

The older man groaned as Fate landed, taking the same route in Ranma had used. "Is there anyone else here?"

Ranma concentrated a moment. "Konatsu's somewhere in the back yard. Think he's out cold, though." She turned back to Soun. "Come on, I need ya ta tell me what's happening."

Another groan, then he blinked, looking at Ranma for a moment without really seeing him. His head slumped forward again. _He's in shock._ "Hey, come on, wake up. You can't go ta sleep now. That'd be bad."

Soun gave another unfocused look, then his eyes shot open wide, and he half-lunged up, stopping with a cry of pain. Ranma lowered him back against the wall, gently. "Don't try ta get up yet. We gotta healer coming. What happened?"

"It was... a sorceress, Zendor, attacked, and she had Genma and the Kuno boy with her."

Ranma jerked back in shock. "My- My father? What was he doing?"

Soun winced. "He... it was his body, and it fought with all his skills, but his mind... his will... He didn't recognize the girls... Didn't hold anything back... I was managing Kuno until Zendor..." He coughed, then continued, voice weaker. "Never saw him fight like that... like it was kill or die... not since we were boys together..."

"Oh, that ain't good..." Her mental voice reached out. _Usagi! I need you!_

Her voice came from behind him. "I was helping Konatsu."

Ranma leaned out of her way, let the silver-haired Senshi kneel beside the slumped figure. Behind her, Konatsu was walking into the building, supported by Nanoha. The small man was pale; drained – the healing had restored his flesh but left him utterly drained and weak. "You pick the worst women to piss off, Saotome."

"It's a gift. How'd they do it? You, Ukyo, Akane... Nabs an' Soun're no slouches either..."

The exhausted pseudokunoichi murmured a word of thanks to Nanoha, slumped onto a cushion. "Your father fought without any concern for his own safety, and backed by sorcery." A pause. "And Ukyo and I... were not at our best."

Ranma nodded. "I getcha." _Man. This ain't good at all. _Standing, she turned to Nanoha and Fate, who were both doing wizardy things in the back yard. "Anything?"

Fate's grin was wide. "We're in time. The residue of her transport spell is still fresh enough to trace."

"Good." Ranma's reply was grim.

* * *

"Interesting. I don't think she's trying to disguise her signal, it's just naturally decaying. Back at the apartments, what was left got swamped out by some slop- powerful magics being thrown around." Kal McLaren very carefully did not look at Usagi, Nanoha, or Fate, suddenly seeming even more enthralled by the spellwork than he'd been moments previously. From the couch he was lying on, almost asleep, Konatsu chuckled.

Dai took pity, covered him. "Didn't help that there'd been so much time for everything to fade before we got a look, either."

Usagi was giving his squadmate a _look_, but Fate looked like she was trying to hold in a giggle. Nanoha nudged her gently in the ribs. "So," began the White Devil, "Do you think you can track it down?"

"Just about. If _Megan_ can come through with the back-trace data they promised, we should be in business."

The little comm projection showing _Megan_'s sensor tech piped up. _"I just need another minute or so. The computer's crunching the numbers now." _Toya Hilux grinned. _"You guys got me just the data I need. With that, I'm unstoppable."_

A little weird, but her heart was in the right place, thought Dai. And unlike the frigate's comm officer – a typical idiot 'senior service' space rat – she gave a damn about the marines, treated them as fellow servicemembers and not combination ornamentation/passengers. _If only we could work with more decent people like that in the fleet._

Inspector Kaga, who'd gotten by fairly well with the magic and such he'd been dealing with so far this evening, looked a bit weirded out by that comm projection. At least twice, he'd looked like he was about to poke it or something, which was kind of amusing. "Will you be able to.. go after them?"

_"Should be able to... huh. There's some really weird dimensional cruft in this signal... Yeah, we'll be able to drop a team at the other end."_

Ranma was still pacing, but he paused for a moment to ask, "How long?"

_"Sorting it now, Agent Saotome. I'll let you all know."_

The martial artist gave a choppy nod, then resumed pacing, muttering something that didn't get translated. Under the circumstances, Dai could guess. It looked like he was going to explode if they didn't get results soon.

LaFeur saw it too. He grabbed Ranma by the shoulder. "We'll get them back, Saotome. Don't you worry about that." _Huh, what happened to his accent?_

Ranma growled something.

The French-Canadian smiled a teeth-baring grin. "You don't get rid of us that easily, sensei."

Jones nodded sharply beside him. "Spies or not, we're not so impartial to the world that we'd let this stand. Besides, I've eaten at Ukyo's place. World needs more good chefs like her; On those grounds alone I'd go after her." Oh, it was nice to get a little confirmation, even if it didn't really matter at this late date.

Ranma paused, looked the three of them over. "You guys are sure you wanna do this? It's gonna be dangerous; we're chasing a sorceress into her own lair."

Bond's smile was a knife edge. "Danger is my middle name."

The martial artist nodded. "You guys got your gear with you? We're goin' as soon as they know where ta drop us."

* * *

Michael Jones had to borrow some gear from the Tokyo PD – in the general mess, they'd scrambled a squad of riot police, the largest of whom's gear _almost_ fit him when he adjusted everything as big as it could go. The riot cops heard the forming plan, and their boss flatly refused to go along, muttering something that he couldn't quite catch after; something about demons and fools. Then he'd valiantly offered to set up a perimeter around the Tendo Dojo should something pop up. The spy couldn't really blame them. He didn't much like the thought of going after an arson-prone, murderous sorceress in her own home either.

But the opportunity to see the Bureau agents in action made it the kind of intelligence coup that if he _didn't _go after it, his bosses would skin him alive, sprinkle what was left in sugar, and stake him over an anthill.

Ballistic vest, taser, sidearm... He wasn't sure how effective they'd be. The Bureau marines didn't like firearms; but that seemed almost a cultural thing.

_Whatever she can do, she's supposedly a human being under all the power. Who knows? I might just get lucky._

As he walked back into the Tendo Dojo, he kept fiddling with his kit. It just wasn't designed for a guy his size – not his fault all Japanese were so runty compared to a red-blooded American boy. Still, it'd be heaps better than nothing. And if the pistol wasn't a familiar make, it was just about the right size for his hand – the young Japanese SWAT who had loaned it to him seemed vaguely embarrassed by it, and for him it would have been a cannon – and it had the solid _feel_ of a quality weapon.

Ranma was still stalking around, trying not to get in anyone's way, eyes darting to the various signs of battle damage, as if he was trying to figure out what had happened, and in what order. Given what he'd seen the little bastard do before, Jones figured there were decent odds he'd manage to if he could calm down enough to _think_ properly.

McLaren, Maller, Takamachi, and the little disembodied head of someone in orbit were all together, working on their route. Aston was surrounded by, well, by a cloud of floating bits of metal and ceramics; presumably the equivalent of cleaning his weapon before a fight. Bond and Rio were conversing in low tones in the kitchen. He looked almost relaxed; hadn't even bothered to go off somewhere to gear up. Of course, given what they said about MI6's Quartermaster division, he was probably carrying enough weapons and holdouts to outfit a Gurkha division.

He heard someone on the stairs; glancing over, he saw LaFleur descending. A brace of throwing knives – the Quebecois' personal weapon of choice – were hanging from his belt, and as he walked down, he absently flipped his butterfly knife around before it vanished into a forearm sheath. His face was concealed by a balaclava, a cigarette between his lips. "Gentlemen."

Ranma glanced over, did a double take. "Why the mask?"

LaFleur shrugged. "I've not gone out to cause havoc personally in a few years. The mask is... part of the uniform for that."

He had Saotome's full attention now. "You told me you were a desk jockey."

"Now."

"You _lied _to me," Ranma said, some growl coming back to his voice.

"Not at all, sensei. I told you the truth, you just never asked if I was _always _a desk jockey." A pause. "Isn't misdirection part of your family martial arts style?"

Ranma deflated. "...Point." He sighed. "Get rid of that cigarette before Soun sees it. I don't wanna deal with him freakin' about something else right now."

"But of course. I'm ready to go as soon as we can."

"That's on them," the martial artist nodded towards the group of heads-together mages.

0_O

Kasumi Tendo was a woman of grace and uncommon fortitude. She'd been young, _far_ too young, when her mother had died. For the sake of her sisters, she had taken up the roll of mother, her own dreams laid aside to give them a stable, safe upbringing, even as their father messily self-destructed. It had required a great deal, forged her soul into steel. Not the same kind of steel that ran within her sisters, perhaps, but steel nonetheless.

So when a lash made of magic and lightning and raw _pain_ struck her back, she did not cry out. She refused to give the sorceress that satisfaction.

"You lied tah me!" raged Kendra Zendor. "You lied, you bitch! You lied, an' yoah gonna _pay _foah it!" The lash struck again, and she stiffened but did not cry out.

Bound in rose vines made of black iron, Akane raged, too. "Let her go you witch! You wouldn't _dare _do this if my _hands_ weren't tied!" She twisted and pulled at her bindings, black iron thorns digging into her flesh, drawing blood in dozens of little rivulets.

Beside her hung Nabiki, bound similarly. She too was furious, but it was a cold fury, the fury of an arctic storm, that she radiated. Beyond Nabiki was Ukyo; looking drained; battered; but defiant. Flanking the door they'd been dragged through were Tatewaki Kuno and Uncle Genma. Their eyes were blank, faces expressionless. Small things, looking like rag dolls, clung to their necks. Both men stood in stances of attention.

Kendra Zendor's laugh was tinged with madness. "Ah beat you once a'ready, girl. Ah kin do it again, if ah have to. Yoah all gonna die. T' Chinese bitch's lucky – ah can't find her, so she gets tah live."

Kasumi forced calm and far more serenity than she felt into her voice. "Why are you going to kill us? What have we done to you?"

"You've taken t' man Ah love. If Ranma don't want me? Fine. Nobody else'll have him, either."

Akane began to spit fury and profanities again.

_If that is why she's doing this... _Kasumi forced herself to be calm, and prepared to take on another burden on behalf of her sisters. "If that is your concern, you can leave the other three out of it."

Purple eyes flashed. "You ah in _no_ position to tell me what ta do."

"You want to take the one Ranma loves away from him? Punish him for hurting you?" She paused, waited a moment for a fractional nod from Zendor. "I am the one he loves. There's no need to involve them. _I _will willingly stay, and suffer whatever you would inflict. Just spare the others."

Akane's face was bloodless, her expression one of horror. Ukyo's was similar, her jaw slack in surprise. Nabiki winced, then her expression turned calculating for a brief moment, before becoming a match of the other's.

Zendor, for her part, seemed to be considering it. Purple eyes met hers. "Why should Ah believe you? You've lied tah me befoah."

"Don't do it, Kasumi!" Nabiki's voice had _just _the right tinge of franticness to it, a hint of desperation as well. "That'd break his heart! To get us back and not you... too cruel." Her expression was one of fear, but her eyes declared, _we will come back for you._

Akane didn't seem to realize what they were playing at. "What? No! No, that's not-" Kasumi flashed her a look, and she stopped, abruptly, the sick expression growing even moreso.

The sorceress looked between them all now, her fury temporarily ebbing, expression growing calculating. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, then slowly curved into a cruel smile. "Ah find myself in t'mood ta hurt him. Yoah right. Ah think Ah'll make it a _lesson_ foah him. You three," she waved vaguely towards Akane, Nabiki, and Ukyo, "Can be mah messengers." She turned back to Kasumi. "You... Scream for me."

Kasumi braced as the madwoman drew back the hand holding her lash. She swallowed her pride; if she could free her sisters it would be worth it. She would give the gaijin the scream she wanted.

It was a good scream, and entirely unfeigned. It even half-drowned out the sound of an alarm. Not enough that Zendor did not hear it, however. She froze, glanced towards the door. "What in t'hells set off mah sentry wards?"

* * *

_"The teleport area is clear,"_ said Sergeant Aston over the comms.

Aston, Maller, and Saotome had taken point for this excursion, and were the first teleported through. The rest of the group waited somewhat impatiently in the Tendo's ruined living room. The rest of those going – LaFleur, Bond, McLaren, Rio, Tsukino, and Jones himself, would be following momentarily, given the teleport had worked.

Takamachi had tried to volunteer, and both Aston and Saotome had jumped down her throat. Most of the argument that had followed had been telepathic, but enough had been aloud(Saotome apparently couldn't manage the trick too well when he was angry) that Jones had learned a few... interesting... tidbits. One) Takamachi and Haralowan were a Couple. Two) they were _both_ pregnant. and Three) No man had been involved in the process.

He didn't know the details, and he didn't _want_ to know.

Nods went around the group, and Jones braced himself. The world dissolved into gold and silver and blue... and suddenly he was standing in another room. Stone predominated; two or three different kinds between the floor and walls, with the blacks and grays broken up by carpets and tapestries. A bookshelf dominated one wall, and next to it was a small freestanding cupboard.

Saotome was looking into that cupboard now, expression very carefully blank. Maller, behind him, didn't have as good a poker face. He looked disturbed. Given the events of the day so far, Jones resolved not to look for himself.

In a whisper pitched to carry no further than their ears, Aston said, "Everyone pair up, and let's get searching. Saotome, can you sense anyone here?"

There was a pause as the martial artist shook himself, taking a deliberate step away from whatever he'd been looking at. "Other than us, I can feel nine people here."

"That makes five potential hostiles. Look sharp everyone; let's move out."

He ghosted forward, down a hallway, deeper into the building.

* * *

_This place is a rat warren_, sent Kia as they stalked through the halls. There were dozens of side rooms, several halls leading off, in the place.

_We need ta find a way down,_ added Ranma. _I'm lookin' as hard as I can, an' they're all below us. _At least his ki sense worked here; the entire place was laden with magic, his scars ached just being here, using them to detect anything specific was out.

Aston nodded sharply. Ranma wasn't sure when they'd agreed to let the Sergeant lead the show here, but he was willing to live with it. He was too close to fury to think tactically right now, letting a cooler head prevail would probably work better.

"Stairway here," said Kal in clipped tones. The support mage had been speaking aloud since they arrived, making sure the entire team could understand him. _Amazin' how much ya take somethin' fer granted, when ya suddenly ain't using it_, thought Ranma.

Still, he was vaguely proud of his students; they were all moving quieter than they had when they'd arrived – he' been on a serious sneak with Aston's bunch before; the difference was very noticeable. The spies were just as good, even without magic. And Ranma was willing to be that if he was wearing body armor that was properly fitted, and not the stuff he'd borrowed, Jones would be _better_. For himself, he was not in top shape – this place fairly _dripped_ with magic, and the ache was digging into his very bones. Add that to several nights of poor sleep; and he was hurting. But he refused to let it stop him. Akane, Nabs, Kasumi, and Ukyo depended on him right now, and he'd die before he let them down.

They put Ranma on point for the stairs. Shrouding himself in the Umi Sen Ken, he ghosted down. The stairs were narrow, steep – one good fighter could hold them against damn near anything from the top – and he stepped carefully. Most of the house smelled faintly of _life, _smells of food, some sweat, little lingering traces that, while mostly empty, it was not left derelict. Clean, mostly. Down here... he smelled old fear, blood, urine, and other unsavory things. _I ain't gonna like this. _Pausing, he sent word back up. _Gimmie a little more lead. I don't think we're gonna like what's down here._

_ Remember, Saotome – you've got backup that's actually worth a damn right now. You don't have to do it all yourself. _Aston's mental voice held mild reproof.

_I know, I know. I'm scoutin' – I won't fly off t'handle just yet._

He took the last few stairs, and emerged into a dungeon of sorts. It looked like, once upon a time, this had been a storage area, but someone had built in walls with some kind of brick that didn't match the rest of the architecture, complete with crude but solid looking bars. The cells nearest the door looked empty, but beyond them...

He let the Umi Sen Ken fall away. "Gos! You all right in there?"

The otaku, slumped against the wall, jerked, head snapping up. He looked like hell. "Well. What took you so long?"

"Trackin' this shit ain't easy." Ranma looked at the walls of the little cell. "I think I c'n bust this open, but it won't be a quiet job."

"Leave it for a minute... Ranma... this is bad."

Ranma was about to reply glibly, paused. "I know the crazy lady has Akane an' t' others. I know she's got Kuno an' pops workin' for her. I missin' anything?" _He's sort of an expert; can't hurt to ask._

"She's got... I'm not sure how to describe it. It's some kind of a variation of a Pactico; but instead of her champion getting an artifact, she does." He took a breath. "It's _not_ fun to be on the inside of it. She's got an artifact that lets her... take over someone, from me, and something that lets her create vines, from Kodachi. I don't know if she... did it with your father or Tatewaki. Be careful."

Ranma mulled that over a moment, but before he could respond, he heard Aston clear his throat behind him. "What's a 'pactico?'

The martial artist swore under his breath, then turned. "It's a sort of ritual magic. I... can't tell ya much more. I don't _know_ much more'n that."

Aston's eyes bored into his own. _Are we about to get screwed because of classified information?_

_ No. It's... the short version is that t' ritual makes an artifact ta help t' bearer protect a mage. An' if anyone asks, I didn't tell you that._

..._fine. Let's keep moving._

"Sure you don't want us ta bust ya out just yet, Gos?"

"Not until you have her contained. It's _safer_ in here."

At the far end of the room, double-doors slammed open. Kendra emerged, flanked by Kuno and Genma. "Who dares disturb mah- Ranma? You..."

Every instinct screaming to rush her, Ranma forced himself to stand fast. "Where are they?"

"Nowhere you can find them. Ah won't let anyone have you if Ah can't."

Ranma was about to snarl a reply when Jones opened fire, joined a split second later by Bond. The bullets crashed into a shield a few feet before the sorceress. In the confines of the room, the two pistols were deafeningly loud. Ranma heard several people yelling in confusion.

Kendra darted back through the doors, which slammed shut. As she did, Genma and Tatewaki rushed forward with deadly intent.

Ranma moved to intercept his father, and very nearly missed. Genma was going all out; in a way that he almost never did, moving with a single minded devotion utterly unlike his usual casual laziness. The heavyset martial artist turned towards him, one hand lashing out; ki shaping a vacuum blade.

Shrouding his own hand with ki, Ranma slapped it aside; it carved a furrow in the flagstones before dissipating. Behind his glasses, Genma Saotome's eyes were blank. _Pity. I wanted to see him shocked, when I did that to him. Ah well._ Father lashed out once more, a two fingered blow aiming to gouge out an eye. Against anyone slower than Ranma; it would be successful, almost certainly fatal, given the power behind it – more than enough to punch into a skull through an eye socket.

Ranma was faster than his father. He ducked the strike, caught Genma's arm in the split second where the larger man was at full extension, and body flipped him into the ceiling. Before he could hit the floor, Ranma was under him, fists blurring as he expunged a... great deal of anger and frustration. "_Amaguriken!" _The hail of blows kept his father pinned against the ceiling.

By the time he let the technique fall away, allowing his unconscious father to thump heavily onto the stones, the rest of the room was almost calm. Jones was literally sitting on an unconscious Kuno, rubbing at his shoulder. Kuno's customary bokken lay at the base of the stairs in three pieces. Usagi held some kind of doll, concentrating a spell on it. As he watched, it disolved.

The Staff Sergeant turned towards Ranma. "Are you done?" His tone was mild.

"Still gotta get Kendra." Ranma's reply was without apology.

"We'dve helped you, but you looked like you really wanted your pound of flesh out of his hide." Dai's smile was wide.

"Pops had it comin' even before he decided ta work for t' bad guys."

"I hate to come to Genma's defense," began Usagi, "But I don't think he had a choice. Get that little voodoo doll thing off his neck, I think it's a mind control charm."

He did so – the little thing put up surprising resistance to his attempt at removal – and tossed it to Usagi, who disposed of it as she did the last one. Then she spoke, her voice that of the Princess. "Now. Let's find her and end this."

* * *

_She looks frazzled. Good. Help must be here,_ thought Nabiki Tendo. She gave Kendra Zendor a look of unfeigned loathing as the sorceress stalked back into her little torture chamber, out of breath and without her bodyguards.

"How did they _find_ me?" she muttered as she stalked up. "An' what do Ah _do _w' you four?"

Kasumi suggested in her usual, gentle tones, "Let us go and beg for mercy? Ranma is not a cruel man; nor are those he associates with. They would likely grant it to you."

"They have already tried tah _shoot _me. Ah am not inclined tah trust anythin' from them."

Nabiki forced herself not to smirk, hoped the sorceress wouldn't look at her too close. She'd lost some skin, but she'd almost managed to free one hand with careful twisting. Trying to break the vines – whatever they were, it wasn't the iron they looked like – by main force would be futile; if an enraged Akane couldn't do it, she surely couldn't either. A few more minutes, though...

"Ah won't let you get away."

"Why such devotion to burning your bridges?" asked Ukyo, sounding significantly more collected than she had earlier. "Ranma-"

"No! No more of yoah lies!" Zendor had almost looked calm, but she was getting worked up again; madness spilling over. "Ah won't let you get away! Ah won't let him get away with breakin' mah heart!" She began to incant something in a language Nabiki did not recognize. Power filled the air-

And then the world exploded in pain.

Fire and ice lashed her as magic rushed along the vines, and she felt more than heard herself scream. Vision clouded by pain, she could see that her sisters suffered likewise. Satisfied by this work of her hands, Kendra retreated further into the warren of her sanctum.

* * *

The stone house was even more mazelike underground. The temptation to split up was strong, but nobody wanted to be caught alone by the sorceress. Ranma seemed more... stable... since beating the everloving shit out of his father, but he was still on edge. Everyone was on edge – this place just plain felt nasty.

A cry of pain echoed down the halls. LaFleur felt himself stiffen, saw the others do the same. Then, a split second later, Ranma was simply _gone_, a red-and-black blur rounding the next bend. Tsukino, Aston, and Rio shot off after him. The rest of the group followed at a more mortal pace – though Kal, Dai, and LaFleur himself managed something a lot faster than the other spies. The Quebecois grinned. _Plenty of utility in this, I think._

The tunnel emptied out in a large room of darker stone than the others, where black iron rose vines grew from the stone, and entangled the four missing women. "Tabarnak..."

Ranma glanced over. "Don't try ta grab it, it'll try ta snare you."

Kal and Tsukino were heads together, radiating that odd pressure that seemed to indicate telepathy. After a moment, Tsukino looked up. "We'll get them out of this. The rest of you, stop her." She started to incant something. Ranma, his earlier fury back in full bloom, deliberately looked away from the four as Aston grabbed his shoulder. The moved to the far end of the room; and LaFleur could easily see why; there were three separate doors there, leading deeper into the warren.

Tsukino finished her spell, and the cries of pain from the captive women faded for a moment, then were replaced with panicked yelps; vines lashed out, snaring Tsukino, McLaren, and Jones, who had, by instinct, grabbed at the Senshi's arm to try and pull her away from the metal grasp. For a moment, all was confusion as they tried to decide how to act – then in a voice that was recognizably Tsukino's but far more regal, "I've got this! I'll break this spell, the rest of you, find her and shut her down."

Aston gave a choppy nod. "This way," he growled, took off down a corridor.

"How'd those vines... do that?" LaFleur asked, mind racing as he tried to keep up.

"Not sure. There must be something actively maintaining the spell."

"I don't suppose there's anything we could do about that?" asked Bond.

"You might." They came to a fork in the hall. "Ranma?"

"I think she's ta the left. Other way... not sure."

"If we get after her, can you two look for anything she might be anchoring that spell with?" Rio looked thoughtful.

"Wouldn't know where to start."

Ranma shot him a grin. "Simple enough, Marceau. If it looks important, wreck it."

Marceau and Bond exchanged grins of razor ice. "We c'n do that, I think."

* * *

Genma Saotome awoke as if from a nightmare.

_Fighting. The girls. Torture. Screaming inside; helpless outside, in thrall to a madwoman. Fighting his son; being defeated in three moves... Even the Yama Sen Ken, he brushed aside. I don't even know how; didn't even think that was _possible_ to do that..._

With a moan, he drew himself up, shook his aching head to clear it. Something in his chest twinged. _Feels like a cracked rib. Idiot boy, so careless as to hurt your own father by accident..._

He looked around. He'd not been kept in these cells – Zendor, correctly, had felt he would be able to break out of them too easily. But he knew where he was, and he had no intentions of staying anywhere even remotely close to that bitch of a sorceress any longer than he had to. He made his way to the stairs, breath hitching painfully. _Several cracked ribs. And some broken. I'm in no condition to rough it..._

His thoughts raced for a moment as he considered his best method of escaping this place. And they ran in the direction of the Arch.

He was no wizard; he'd have no way to change where it lead, for that seemed to require a spell of some kind... but activating it was no more involved than touching a single rune. He could use it to get himself back to Tokyo.

At the realization, he began to laugh – a laugh that cut off immediately as pain stabbed through his chest. He settled for chuckled wheezes as he cautiously made his way to the Arch, hidden on the uppermost floor.

Touching the rune made the whole thing light up pleasantly. Smiling, happy in his escape, he walked through, blinked at the flare of light -

_"Lightning Bind!"_

_ "Restrict Lock!"_

As his vision cleared, he saw two sorceresses whom he vaguely recognized, one armed with a staff, the other a scythe. They both gave him ill favored looks. Beside them stood Soun Tendo, who began to bellow in fury.

And in front of them, stood a very large squad of officers in Tokyo PD SWAT uniforms.

"Genma Saotome, you are under arrest," said the officer closest, snapping steel handcuffs around his magically-restrained wrists. "If you come quietly, it'll go better for you."

_This is hardly fair. They're probably going to bring up all those old things I did for the Master. This isn't going to be fair at all._

* * *

Ranma crashed through a heavy set of double doors without pausing. They were getting close. He could _feel_ her ki, now, and they were getting _very_ close. Aston was yelling at him to wait. He knew that'd be a good idea, but right now he was focused on finding her.

Another corner, and he was in what looked like a dining room. Two long low tables ran its length, benches to either side. Zendor was leaning heavily against one of them, at the far end of the room, panting. "Give it up, Zendor. You can't outrun me, an' you ain't getting' away."

"Ah... may not win... but ah... refuse ta lose... ta anyone." She paused, gathered herself. "Not even ta you. Ah'll kill them befoah I let that happen."

Ranma started walking around one table. _If I can keep her distracted, maybe I can get ta lunge-and-grab range before she does anything else. _"Let 'em go, Zendor. Let 'em go, surrender, an' it'll go better for ya."

"Why? So you kin break mah heart again? Why should Ah trust you, Ranma? Why should Ah care. I'da done anything foah you! An' you threw it in mah face!"

"I told you outright. I didn't lie to you, I gave ya that much respect. I'm sorry I hurt you, honestly. But this has gone too far. Back off now, while you still can." _Almost there. _"Please." _Buy it for a couple more seconds..._

They heard footsteps rushing down the corridor, Dai shouting a battle cry, and the moment vanished. She snapped off a bolt of force that caught him cleanly, sending him toppling, and pulled what looked like a card from a pocket. _Pactico._ A word, and something flew across the room, and Dai's battlecry cut off sharply. Whirling, Ranma saw the green haired mage turn on Aston and Kia, snapping off a spell that was quick, weak, and utterly unexpected; just enough to throw them both off ballance. Whirled back; saw Zendor vanish out a side door.

Kia regained her feet quickly, threw up a shield. "Go! I'll keep this idiot busy; kick her ass!" She snapped a blast at the zombie-like Dai. "I always told you, you needed to work on your defensive magics, but you never listened..."

Ranma and Aston bolted after Kendra; this fight could not last much longer.

* * *

Blinking, Tatewaki Kuno returned to the land of the waking.

He hurt; as if he'd been whomped on by a whole bunch of enthusiastic folks. A moment's thought brought him up to speed. _The gaes has been lifted. The black magic's touch taken from my mind._

He stood, slowly, looked around. In one of the cells he saw a familiar figure; the sunken-eyed otaku, whose only redeeming trait was that he, too, saw the glory that was Akane. "Are you back with us?" asked Gosunkugi.

"I am! For I am a noble samurai and such a spell as that cannot hold me for any length of time!" A pause. "Which way did she go?"

Gos pointed to the inner door.

"My thanks! I shall not allow this injustice to stand!" He raced off, in search of a spellcaster.

* * *

"Well," said James Bond, "I rather think this is the sort of important thing Ranma wanted us to wreck."

"It certainly has that kind of look," agreed Marceau LaFleur as he looked at the array of rune-etched stones and softly glowing crystals. "Where should we start?"

"Well," said Bond, as he pulled something small, round, and heavy-looking out of a hidden pocket. "If you start on the left, I'll start on the right. We'll meet somewhere near the middle, I'm sure."

LaFleur looked at the first rune he came across on the left; what looked like a of silver inlaid in gray stone. He drew one of his larger throwing knives, and jammed it, point first, against an edge, prying it up. For a moment, all that seemed to happen was the feeling of static building in the back of his teeth, then the rune inlay came loose with a low, electrical _pop_.

Glancing over, he saw Bond, who'd slapped what he could see was an iron disk with some unfamiliar characters inscribed on it. "What's that?"

"A little something from Q division. I don't know when the old gent learned how to make it, but I'm rather glad it works." Bond's smile had some genuine warmth.

"Got a spare?"

The British agent tossed him a disk. "I'll need that back. Q gets rather cross when I don't bring back my equipment."

"I'll do my best." He turned to the next magical thing in line, and smiled. _This, I can do._

* * *

Kendra Zendor set the wards securing her innermost sanctum, and prepared to play a waiting game. She had faith in her artifacts. Faith in her spellcraft. Faith in the wards her father and his friends had built into this rambling old stone fortress; many of them anchored here, in runes along the columns and walls of this chamber, though they drew their power from elsewhere. She would tear out Ranma's heart, through those women. After that... she didn't much care what happened. She had built her future around him for so long, that the idea, now, of building a new future without him... terrified her. She could not deal with it, not now, not with the pain of loss and the fracturing of the truths that formed the very bedrock of her world so fresh.

She'd have her revenge. What came after that... was what came after that. She would burn that bridge when the time came. For now, she would concentrate on the revenge. Evened scales would make figuring everything out _so_ much easier.

Some slammed into the door with a heavy _thud_ and a muffled shout; but the wards held strong. They were expertly crafted; designed to stand against the fury of a dragon so long as the matrix of anchor runes held solid-

She felt one of those self-same runes _shift_, and hastily scried its source. She saw a masked figure – not one of the mages who'd been chasing her, so if what the vodouisant had told her was true, he had to be... "That spah is sappin' mah sentry wards," she muttered. "Oh, no..."

The power flowing into her door's protections failed, and those same doors crashed open. Ranma – fairly burning with rage – and the eldest of the mages stood there. "Show's over," said the older man. "I represent the Time-Space Administration Bureau. Surrender to my custody, Kendra Zendor, and I swear you'll get a fair trial, and you _won't _face a sentence of death, whatever its outcome."

Before she could respond, Ranma growled, "Or take yer chances with us. I don't wanna kill you, but I _am _gonna stop you."

"Ah will not lose now! Not even t' you!" She incanted a spell, threw bolts of energy at the both of them. In the confines of the room, neither could dodge to the best of their ability, and the mage, at least, had to catch the blast with a shield. Pulling power from her failing wards, Kendra Zendor prepared for a final battle.

* * *

Kia pushed down the urge to swear. She'd sparred with Dai Maller hundreds of times, over the years. She knew the way he fought. Whatever it was that Kendra Zendor had thrown, whatever it had done... she was not fighting Dai Maller, but some strange, deadly, efficient _thing_ using his body as a puppet.

She caught a blast on her shield, snapped off a counter. Maller caught it with a shield of his own. "Since when are you that quick?"

His only response was to begin charging up another blast. She dodged it, darted forward, inside his reach, snaking a foot behind one of his knees in a move Ranma had drilled them on, but Maller'd never really gotten down. Whatever was driving him knew the move, however. She fell back, blocked a sweep of his Device with her own. Throwing up another shield, she dropped back further – annoyingly, there wasn't enough headroom for her to take advantage of her newfound flight ability, which would have let her open the range to the point where she could make use of her best attacks. And he his, of course, but she was better at fast, potent attacks than he was, even if she couldn't hit _quite _as hard. Close in... well, against _Dai,_ she'd be better off, but against whatever was driving him now, they seemed evenly matched.

_I may have bitten off more than I can chew here... _"You know, I never thought I'd miss your stupid banter, but at the moment I actually do." _Mind in the fight, Rio. You can do this._

* * *

A small part of Aston's mind was trying to process the situation. His guestimate of Zendor's power, after surveying things at the Tendo Dojo, had been in the high A to AA range. More powerful than himself, but not by so much that he couldn't deal with it.

He caught another blast on his shields, darted back while charging up a response. _She throws around so much power... I'd have to burn cartridges like confetti to match her!_

Brass Claw turned in his hand, shifting into Staff Form, as he lashed out with a bolt. It wasn't his mightiest attack, but it was nothing to sneeze at. And some of the things Tsukino had been showing him, mixed with half-remembered shop-talk with a Neo-Belkan mage, had given him a way to snap it off _quickly_. It was just draining as hell. Like what she was doing should be draining as hell.

A hasty shield; inefficient as hell, but potent, and she blocked it. _Sankt Kaiser, her power reserves seem endless! How is she..._

Ranma charged in, pinning the sorceress with a rushing strike. She struggled, though she couldn't get any leverage. _I don't think she's going to stay down, Saotome,_ he sent.

_Not willingly, nope._

Aston popped a pair of cartridges; he only had two more clips handy, and he had the feeling that husbanding what reserve he had would be best; and charged a spell, runic circle forming before him. Target in close with something you didn't want to hit? He had just the thing...

_"Ellith Kaiza Shok!" _screamed Zendor, and a field of power blasted forth. Convulsing from electric shock, Ranma lost his grip, jerking back and away. _Where's she getting so much power from?_

As she pulled herself to her feet, letting the field drop away and Ranma sag for a moment against the flagstones, he finished his own spell. _"Matra Blade Flurry!"_

A dozen energy blades flew out, each on its own arc, curving around any shield to strike at Zendor from all directions. Her hastily snapped up shield caught five of them, a well timed dodge eluded two others; but still five blasts hammered into her, sending the sorceress flying across the room, rolling to a stop behind a pillar.

With a grace that seemed almost undiminished despite his obvious pain, Ranma sprang to his feet, circling Zendor's position to the right, even as Aston went left. _Hard as that hit her she should be recovering about now... just have to hit her harder next time..._

The wards anchored in the room suffered another sudden drop in power as she came in sight, already gathering a spell and looking for a target. She spotted Ranma first, rounded on him. _"Amastermay Arksay!" _The spell loosed a powerful beam of energy; distant kin of a Divine Buster, if he didn't miss his guess, and Ranma, reacting with his usual obscene speed, leapt over it. On the far side of the room, it pulverized one of the columns.

_How is she- wait. The wards. They drop in power, and she pulls something out of her ass._

_ Saotome,_ he sent, _I know where she's getting so much power from. She's using the spells anchored here as a supply._

_ That means there's a limit, right?_

_ Yes,_ he snapped a shield up, blocking another of her spells; burning a cartridge to do it, _But it's a damned big limit. At least we know._

_We c'n work with that. "Moko Takibasha!" _He loosed a ki blast as he ran. _Knowin's power._

* * *

Tatewaki Kuno roared a battle cry as he stormed into Kendra Zendor's sanctum sanctorum, and spotted his prey; the foul mage who had caused such harm.

"Vile Spellcaster!" he shouted, "You, who have caused such agonies, you, who suborned my mind! Know, now, that you shall face the fury of the Kuno!"

Ranma, the gaijin, and Zendor all ignored him, intent on their own battle. _That's not how it's supposed to work._

For a moment, the gears of the kendoist's mind ground as he struggled to change tactics. Finally, he succeeded; charged, loosing another battle cry. "For your crimes, prepare to die, Ranma Saotome!"

Still the sorcerer seemed to ignore him! "I may lack my blade, but know that the fury of the Kuno-"

Absently, almost as an afterthought, Ranma felled him with a backhanded strike; sending Kuno crashing back into the realm of unconsciousness.

* * *

Ranma darted around, trying to dodge the hail of blasts Kendra was sending his way. _I never thought I'd ever want a shield so bad..._

Aston was doing a bit better, one hand held out, anchoring a Round Shield; Brass Claw behind him in Sabre form, charging up something. A slight shift in his stance – Ranma snapped off a ki blast in time with his spell; the energy bolts crossing each other and splashing against her shield.

_Any ideas, Saotome? She's pulling power out of these wards; enough to put her out of my weight class._

_ Workin' on one, Tom, gimmie a minute ta think here._

Ranma darted in close, spun around one blast, caught part of another, and kicked off of Kendra's shield with a wave of ki. _Got you now._ Spinning in midair, he bounced off of the ceiling, using it to propel himself back down. Zendor was still trying to shift her aim up to him when he hit the shield again, ki wrapping his extended finger. Rapidly, he tapped out a pattern; not as clean a pattern as he liked – he didn't get _that_ good a look at the structure of her shield – but close enough with a little added force... "Tortoise Cracking Finger!"

For a spit second, nothing happened. Then Kendra – presumably realizing what his technique had just done, started swearing and pumped power into her shield, trying to keep it holding together despite his efforts. Ranma backflipped clear as the shield failed with a hefty _bang_ of imploding air and a scattering of violet confetti that burned at his scars. "Aston! Hit it!"

_"Sabre Arc Slash!"_ The wave of energy flashed across the room, taking Zendor full in the chest. She stumbled back, crashing to the flagstones.

"Nicely done," said Ranma.

"I could say the same. That was quite the trick." The two advanced on the fallen sorceress. "How does it work?"

"I'll demonstrate in class. Fer now... Zendor, yer comin' with us. You've lost. Drop yer spells, an' it'll go better for ya." _Pops would probably call me weak. I don't wanna kill her, even after all this. She's sick, an' she needs help._

For a moment, Zendor met his gaze, measured the sincerity in his words. For a moment, as tears began to gather in the corners of her eyes, he thought she was going to do it; going to give up and end this madness.

Then she screamed, and his only warning was a split second of power rushing into her, before a blast of magic crashed into him like a tidal wave.

* * *

Ranma; younger, faster, and with vastly quicker reflexes, seemed to wrap himself in ki; the blast pushed him back perhaps a dozen feet with a hiss of pain, but he didn't fall.

Aston was not so fortunate. He was a hair too slow, bringing up a barrier, and the wave caught him and threw him into the nearest wall. He hit shoulder-first, and felt something go _pop_ within the joint. Then his head whiplashed into the stones, and he saw stars for a moment, sagging to the ground.

The sorceress pushed herself back to her knees. Aston felt the wards in the room abruptly fail completely as she pulled the last of their power back into herself. _Interesting trick. She just won't quit._

Zendor's voice was a ragged shriek. "If Ah can't have you, nobody can! The moon bitch won't save them! Ah'll kill them all!" Then she started chanting a spell in a language he didn't recognize. He tried to gather some magic of his own, to counter whatever she was about to do; but failed. His shoulder and arm were numb, and his thoughts sluggish from the blow to the head.

He was helpless, and this madwoman was about to kill four young women. _Sankt Kaiser no..._

* * *

Ranma felt a leaden ball of fear drop into his stomach at her words. _She means it. She's not gonna stop. I have to... I have to _make _her stop._ Though wounded and riding the knife edge between adrenaline and exhaustion, he pulled his ki together, and did the only thing he could think of that might work. Fire flared, and incantation turned to a scream of pain. Then silence.

* * *

Usagi Tsukino was pitting her will and might against the horrid, disgusting spell that _that woman_ was using to kill her friends. It was not simply the damage to their bodies she countered, but the vast plethora of pains it was inflicting. Trying to dampen them; keep them from driving her friends mad, was taxing. A small, perversely impassive voice in her head observed the sheer artistry of the spellcraft – without a doubt, a work of mad genius – and she hated herself for seeing that even as she used that recognition to find flaws and aid her healing.

_Damn this place!_ She thought, teeth gritting. She could not draw upon her full power in this world; something about the Magical World cut her off from all but a tithe of her power; and she was not sure if it would be possible to move them to the portal without killing them; the damnable, black iron thorn vines still bound them, countering any motion to remove them by trying to ensnare the helper. Barbs of iron pierced her flesh, inflicting that same pain upon her. She would not fail. She would not let this, this... _monster_ defeat her. She-

Abruptly, the vines holding them disintegrated into dust, and she almost fell. The spell was broken, and she quickly completed her healing of all its victims. "Go Ranma!" she blurted, "We won!"

* * *

Ranma Saotome looked down on the still-burning remains of Kendra Zendor, and told himself that it was the only way. She'd been unhinged, raving, an obvious lunatic to beggar the worst he'd ever seen from the siblings Kuno, paired with a genuinely frightening amount of magical might. She'd been bent on a brutal murder; in the midst of making it happen, after torturing and mind-controlling people. In short, a dangerous, rabid dog in human form, and it had been a mercy to burn her down.

It almost helped. The scent of charred flesh hit his nose, and he turned, staggered two steps, and vomited up the last day's meals in three great, shaking heaves. Two more, bringing only bile, and he finally managed to straighten, wiping foul liquid from his mouth with a tattered sleeve.

Across the room, he saw Aston. The TSAB marine looked from Zendor, to him, and back, ashen face tinged with green. _TSAB don't like to kill. They like their magic; it can just disable. Sorry, Tom, for spoiling your trip._

A side door burst open; disgorging LaFleur and Bond, the latter with pistol in both hands, the former carrying a brace of knives, faint flickers of ki dancing across them. They took in the stark tableau in momentary silence. The Quebecois pulled off his mask as he took in the scene, face very, very blank. The Englishman smirked, and gave Ranma an approving nod that nearly brought up more bile. _The sociopath approves of me. How nice._

An energetic shout – Ukyo, by the sound – as others raced into the room. It cut off sharply. Ranma turned. Jones, his face almost as blank as LaFleur's. Ukyo, clothing tattered, one of Akane's ki hammers held loosely, eyes full of surprise. Nabiki, eyes burning with satisfaction as she looked upon her tormentor's corpse. Kal, his expression almost a mirror of Aston's. Akane, mouth agape, looking shocky. Kasumi, one hand covering her mouth, eyes filled with pity even for one who'd tried to kill her. Usagi, her eyes wide, full of pain, sorrow, and understanding as they met Ranma's own.

He barely recognized his own voice as it rasped. "I'm sorry. I tried to stop her without... but... I couldn't find a way; and I took too long..." He shuddered, coughed. It sounded like excuses, even to him, the ever tempting, _I did what I had to do._ "I'm sorry."

Marceau found his voice first. "Sensei... let's get out of here."


	11. Epilogue

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or worlds, nor do I make any claim. Please don't shoot, I'm just the piano player._

Epilogue

"Well, I've gotten word from Higher about this," said Lieutenant Toshiro Ito as he sat tiredly in the chair opposite Ranma.

Ranma was tired himelf. Tired and worn. Sleep had been denied him these last two nights, as he grappled with nightmares. _Saffron, and Zendor. What happened. What might have happened. What it felt like to kill. With Zendor, what if felt like as her ki faded and extinguished. _"How much trouble am I in?"

It was a very good question, he felt. When they returned from the Magical World, Gosunkugi and the unconscious Kuno siblings in tow, Ito had been at the Tendo Dojo, along with a mass of military police. Ranma knew he'd broken his standing orders about _not_ letting people know about the Magical World – no way in hell would the Bureau not find it now, and he had little doubt that the spies would figure it out, too – so when they'd told him to come quietly, he did.

Truth to tell, after spending that much time in close proximity to so many mages; and in a mage's lair, getting away was almost a relief. He'd been _hurting_, even before he'd had to kill. Two restless nights later and part of him wished he'd refused to come along, but it was too late for that. He'd play the cards he'd been dealt, to borrow a phrase.

"That's still being determined, but I suspect, once some of our assorted spooks finish having their heart attacks, it won't be as bad as it could." A pause. "Just about everyone in my chain of command, at least, agrees that under the circumstances, they'd have gone after the girls, and to hell with everything else. The only dissenting voice was Takashi, but he's a hard one." A pause. "It'll still be more than a slap on the wrist, and it's utterly torpedoed at least three long range plans we'd had, but a few of those were on shakey ground already, from what I can gather."

"Oh?" He was curious despite himself.

"Well, it seems there's been rumblings for a while that the British already knew about the Magical World, so that secret edge was probably nearing the end of its life. The others..."

"Classified? Especially around a guy like me?"

"Unfortunately." Ito gave him a thin smile. "Need to know basis and all that. Still. We probably won't be keeping you here too much longer." A pause. "And if you really wanted to leave, I'm sure this wouldn't hold you."

Ranma gave a look around the room. "Well... Not really. But... Heck, I knew I was breakin' my orders. I'm a better man than my father. I'll take my lumps."

"That fact that you're honestly willing to is part of the reason it's going to go as well as it is for you. I'll get back to you as soon as I have more information."

"Thanks, Lieutenant."

* * *

Ukyo was at something of a loose end, these last few days. It hadn't been easy. They'd been taken to Tokyo General after getting out of Kendra Zendor's fortress, for observation and, well, the fact that the Tendo Dojo wasn't looking much better off than her own home had. The first two nights... had been bad. But the nightmares were ebbing a bit in their ferocity and power, and with a little luck she'd be able to sleep soundly again soon. Not bad for only a week after... that.

She suppressed a shudder, thinking again of Zendor's madness, and what Kasumi had been willing to do to try and break them free from it. She had to get that girl something nice, and soon.

Still, she was alive, and her insurance covered 'fire,' so with a little help from Nabiki she'd be getting a nice fat cheque to rebuild somewhere. And the rebuilding would be soon. She'd been by the old place this morning, and saw a bunch of unfamiliar people in the uniforms of the Mahora Construction Club building frantically. Her restaurant, and the apartment complex that had been around it, providing ever so many lovely regular customers, would be back in days.

_Someone_ in the Magical World was embarrassed about things, and trying to make up for it. She really hoped she'd be able to get the story out of Ranma.

She'd done a bit of shopping, picking out a new grill and assorted furnishings for both restaurant and home. And that was all the prep she could do until the construction guys were done and the insurance cheque came in, leaving her at loose ends for the moment.

So when Lieutenant Ito called a busy Nodoka Saotome, in the midst of the process of serving Genma with divorce papers, to let her know her son was being released from custody, she'd called the Tendos. And Ukyo was the only one there who wasn't in the middle of something, and so she'd come. And she watched the gate as the brownian motion of the city flowed around her.

_There_ he was; walking out of the main gate, looking rumpled, with a duffel over his shoulder, exchanging nods with the guards. She waved to him. He waved back, and crossed the street in a single leap.

"You make that look way too easy."

He shrugged. "Practice. What brings ya here?"

"Somebody needed to pick you up, rather than let you run off." A pause. "I've given things some thought over the last week... I understand why you did it. Thanks for coming clean. And thanks for coming after us."

"Sorry it went so bad. An' sorry I was so... awkward about t'rest."

The two of them started off at a downright sedate pace towards the nearest light rail station, for a long moment simply sharing a silence amid the hustle and bustle of the city. After about a block, Ukyo spoke up again. "So. How bad?"

"Not as bad as it coulda been. Busted down a couple ranks, pay cut. Couple nights in t' stockade." He shrugged. "More'n worth it, under t' circumstances." A pause. "How you holdin' up?"

"Well, the restaurant is being rebuilt. I've got all the new fittings picked out."

"The Magical World moves fast when they wanna."

She glanced over at him. "You're not surprised."

"Not really. They caught a lotta hell over this. Onea their people attackin' a noble family, burnin' down a building? They're kissin' up. Probably hopin' they can make a good start'a things with the rest of the world."

"What _was _her story, anyway?"

"Didn't get all of it. What I got said her ol' man was a terrorist, an' his bunch stocked that fortress. They caught them, didn't find her."

"How'd she get fixated on you?"

"I ain't got t' faintest clue." A pause. "Happier not knowin,' frankly."

* * *

Genma Saotome sat in a prison cell designed to hold men like him, alone with only his thoughts, and suffered.

Everything had caught up with him; everything had fallen apart. His son had defeated him. His best friend had denounced him, blaming him, _oh _so unfairly, for the harm that befell his daughters. His wife had divorced him.

All he was left with was a lifetime of memories; memories that were turning, inexorably, into regrets. _How did it all go so wrong?_

_ Do you want the list, _snarked an inner voice he hadn't heard in years, _Because I've got it ready to go._

He blinked. _Who are you?_

_ Your conscience. You can't keep me silent any more, Saotome. Not when you can't hide behind your convictions. You know exactly how this came to pass, even if you want to deny being at fault. And guess what? I'm not going to let you._

Genma settled in for a long, long day of suffering, unable to drown out the voice of his conscience. Thievery, child abuse, half a dozen other charges, and no-one cared that he'd had the boy's best interests at heart; or that all, well, most, well, some, of the thievery had been at the Master's request... he would not be leaving this place for a long, long time.

* * *

_Sankt Kaiser, Sergeant, she was way easier to live with when she wasn't getting any regularly._

_ Bond's not following us home, Maller, you'll get your wish._ Aston paused for a moment as an incredibly smug-looking Kia sauntered into the common room of their hotel suite. "Another good night?"

"Oh yeah. I won't scandalize you with the details."

"Rio, I once spent two weeks of planet leave on Isilia. I don't think it's _possible_ for me to be scandalized."

Maller blanched. "Then don't scandalize _me_ with the details. Either of you. Sankt Kaiser you two are terrible."

From where he was munching on breakfast and reading the paper, Kal glanced up and smirked.

"Anyway. I hope we've all enjoyed our little post-battle vacation," began Aston.

"Oh yeah. I just _love_ paperwork," interrupted Dai under his breath.

Aston continued as if he hadn't spoken. "But we're back in training today, so don't have too much fun."

"Ranma's out of the joint?"

"Yeah. And he didn't even have to smash his way out. I didn't get all the details, it was a quick call, but we're on again tonight. Hopefully without any more arson or kidnappings or... Having to deal with the same." Aston's expression went distant for a moment.

"Under the circumstances, Sergeant, I think we can't criticize him too harshly for how he dealt with that." Kal's voice was quiet, patient.

"I'm aware of that. I still don't have to like it."

* * *

"That makes it four nights in the last seven he's hit the town with her. He _can't_ still be trying to pick her brain for information."

"Nope. I think James Bond is honestly smitten."

Marceau LaFleur shook his head as he slurped down some noodles. Swallowing, he said, "Never thought I'd see t' day. I didn't think that bastard still 'ad a soul." He fished something deep fried out of his noodles with chopsticks. _Ah, street food._ "You sure?"

Michael Jones nodded. "Oh yes. I asked him about her yesterday. Son of a bitch actually dropped his guard; eyes all lit up, when he answered." A chuckle. "Satan's probably skating to work today."

"Even so. Back to work tonight, eh?"

"Yep. At least we got a few days to recover. That was..." he trailed off and gave an involuntary shudder. "Something I don't plan to repeat any time soon."

"Agreed." _Even if we did find enough to make for a decent bit of intel. The support team tells me my package's been received. It should be useful, I hope._

As they'd made their escape, Marceau had been filling his pockets with magical paraphernalia; not with any real plan or pattern, but anything pocketable that wasn't nailed down and on fire. It'd make things harder for local investigators, no doubt, but given that Ranma had rather permanently ended Zendor's threat, he figured he could live with that. Even if it had cost him... much. And it surely seemed to, at the time. _That's the difference between you and him, mon ami. You can play at being a good man. He is one. Despite the best efforts of his father._

* * *

The first class back was... uncomfortable. The Bureau agents, being strong proponents of _Thou Shalt Not Kill_, were a bit on edge around Ranma, who was himself a little uneasy; enough that he was off his game. The next night was little better. But by the end of their first week of renewed classes, things had fallen back into a routine, and everyone was more or less relaxed around each other.

Well. Except for the nights where Nanoha decided to sit in. Those nights just resulted in entertainment value for the spies, as the marines always went into panic mode for at least a few minutes. It made for excellent heckling material, which was a decent icebreaker itself.

In any event, by the end of that first week, things were relaxed enough that the lot of them headed over to the newly re-opened Uuchan's, to celebrate that reopening and their own survival.

* * *

Shenhua was back on the streets of Roanapur and loving it.

For two years, she'd been gone. Two years in a foreign country, among others of her native people. She'd learned much, but... she would never pretend that she'd been terribly happy there. She'd not expected much of a welcome when they finally returned to the Amazon's hidden little village, and she'd not been disappointed.

The Amazon village was a boring hole, to her mind. It always had been. And while a little peace and quiet wasn't _entirely_ unamiss for her, the raw, stone-brained stupidity of the elders had only gotten worse since she'd first run away, years prior. The government of China on the edge of war with its people; who were seizing on new sources of power and organizing to make all sorts of bids for freedom. The legitimization of magic in the eyes of the general public had brought all sorts of hedge wizards, ancient masters, sorcerers, yogis, warlocks, and other assorted mystics out of the woodwork. The Amazonian leadership, never fans of the Chinese government, had decided that it would be a _really good idea_ to egg such people on.

Cologne, at least, had been smart enough to argue against it – she knew what the government would do in retribution when things finally boiled over, and she knew that the Amazons wouldn't be able to stand off a modern army. Or, for that matter, a dedicated and enthusiastic bombing campaign. But Cologne, having pitched her efforts behind bringing Ranma back to the village (a venture Shenhua had recognized as futile long before the old ghoul had) was in some measure of disgrace. Thus, she was being ignored.

Shenhua saw the writing on the wall. She sat down with Shampoo, and a few of the other young Amazons who were less than thrilled with life in the village or their elder's current goals, and decided to get the hell out while the getting was good.

God, it was _so good_ to be back in Roanapur. She hadn't realized just how much she'd missed the place. Mister Chang had moved office at some point(due to absorbing a chunk of the American mob's business and territory about a year back) but it hadn't taken long to find him, and secure contracts and retainers for herself and the other Amazons. The others were settling into their new apartment. She had some business to take care of.

The old cleaning place hadn't moved; its signage hadn't even changed. Smiling, Shenhua walked through the main door and headed straight to the back, following the faint sound of a chainsaw. She made her way past familiar bits of medical paraphernalia and body bags. Finally, she opened a steel door and walked into the back room; thick with the smell of chainsaw exhaust, blood, industrial cleaners, and human waste. She waited for a moment, staring at the back of the small chainsaw wielding cleaner with a smile.

The figure straightened, chainsaw throttling down to idle, and turned around, as if sensing that she had company. The chainsaw dropped from her hands, choking and dying as it bounced off the floor, and she whipped off her mask and goggles as she charged, hitting Shenhua in an energetic tackle. "_You came back,_" said Sawyer the Cleaner through her UltraVox, hugging the taller woman tightly.

Shenhua hugged her back. "I come back. Waited too long. Missed you, friend."

* * *

"Kanpai!" Chorused the group of friends and acquaintances.

"And here's to all of us surviving the training," added Marceau LaFleur, to a round of chuckles.

"Here, here," agreed Bond, raising a glass and trying to ignore the soreness in his shoulder. A soreness that'd be going away tonight, once they were finished at this little party. There were advantages to having a sorceress as a lover. Kia wasn't much of a healer, she claimed, but she was good for what ailed him, in more ways than one.

There was something to the honest, blunt, outgoing marine that just... clicked with him, the way no woman had in ages. It was... a remarkable feeling. And something he suspected he'd dearly miss when all this was over. Which would be far too soon. Still, it was hardly time to brood about such things, for tonight was a party. The entire class was present, in Uuchan's dining room, along with Nanoha Takamachi and Fate Testarossa-Haralowan. Both ladies were quite visibly pregnant now, and both projected an air of serenity and happiness.

"Been a hell of a couple months," said Maller. "Hopefully, next time we hit this place, nothing exciting happens." That, also, got a round of murmured agreement.

"Eager to tempt Murphy?" asked Jones. Maller nodded happily, to a round of chuckles.

"So, they know when yer shippin' out, yet?" asked Ranma, turning to Aston.

"We break orbit a bit after noon local tomorrow," replied the marine.

_ So little time,_ thought Bond. _I shall have to make tonight something... special._

"If you've reconsidered your plans," began McLaren, "We've got a spare bunk on the ship with your name on it."

The celebratory air took on a sudden tense undertone as the martial artist looked to the marine. "I appreciate t' thought, but my answer's still t' same."

The marine shrugged. "Can't blame a man for trying. Can you at least tell us when your dojo'll be open for business again?"

Ranma shrugged expressively. "Don't know yet, but I'll give ya a shout when I get back."

Ranma'd made no bones about his plan to go on a journey of some sort once classes were finished, and had spent much of the last week getting those plans in order. He felt the need, he had explained, to do some hard thinking about his life; somewhere away from home. He wanted to see the world, meet people, and generally experience a little more of the world.

That he would be followed by recruiters of various agencies the entire time was something of an open secret. That the Bureau would try to steal a march on them... was not terribly surprising. That Ranma declined was also not much of a surprise to Bond – the young man seemed allergic to people trying to manipulate him. Not something Bond could blame him for, given his history.

Still. It had been a good few months. He'd learned a number of useful little tricks for fighting, and found that he still could fall in love. He'd even managed to hang onto almost all of the goodies Q division had issued him – the old man would be thrilled with him.

James Bond settled back to relax among... friends. It was an unusual feeling for him, but one he welcomed. _This was, indeed, a good assignment._

* * *

"So, do you have a travel plan yet? Beyond where this flight's taking you?" Nabiki asked as the sisters Tendo, Ukyo Kuonji, and Nodoka Saotome followed Ranma towards the departures gate at Tokyo International.

"Nah," replied Ranma. "Just gonna see where my feet carry me."

Kasumi smiled demurely. "Tired of trying to plan?"

Ranma's smile was decidedly lopsided. "Given how good my plans go, yeah." He paused for a moment, looking over the gathered masses in the terminal. "I been runnin' hard, tryin' ta make t'plan work for... at least three years now. I think I just need ta take a couple months ta... slow down an' relax, see what I can see."

"He's turning philosophical," began Ukyo. "We're doomed." Akane giggled in response.

The group started for the departures gate again. "Make sure you write us, baka," said Akane, not unkindly, "And I _know_ you know how to use email, so there's no excuse."

"I'll remember. An' yes, gifts will be forthcomin' when I get home."

"Excellent!" said Nabiki, "We've got him trained, now."

Ranma joined in the round of giggles that brought as they reached the line at the gate. He turned to them all. "Thank you. All of you. I'll keep in touch."

For a brief moment, they shared quiet murmurs as he hugged each of them in turn, finally giving his mother a deep, formal bow. Nodoka returned it. "Carry yourself with honor, my son."

"I shall." A pause, then he looked to the group as a whole. "Take care'a yourselves, everyone. I'll be in touch."

Then he walked through the departure gate, heading for a plane... and from thence, he knew not where... simply that he felt it a path he needed to walk.

* * *

Author's Afterword.

Another story in the can. It feels good, I have to say. It's been a long trip on this end; running through the end of one job, the entirety of a second, a third(part time) one, and the continuing search for a forth. A little over two years, I've been working on these stories.

For those waiting on the next one... it'll be a bit of a wait, I fear. The basic sketch of _Journey's_ plot came to me as I finished up _Grand Tour_, and I had a vague idea of what _Odyssey_ would be even as I finished that one. _Walkabout_'s basic plot was already percolating as I finished off _Odyssey_'s epilogue.

But I don't have anything a-brew in my head for a fifth big fic(and I know, this one's rather shorter than the last couple). Nothing that could carry a decent-length fanfic, at least, though I might crank out a couple one-shots following up on various subplots of the previous stories(mostly _Odyssey_)

Sorry. (Or 'reason to celebrate!' for the various non-fans)

Anyway. Now that that's out of the way...

As mentioned above, I had a basic plot-sketch of _Walkabout_ put together even as I put the finishing touches on _Odyssey._ In terms of numbers, _Walkabout _came closer to following that initial plan than either _Odyssey _or _Journey_, as they evolved from basic sketch to full story. In terms of importance to the story, I think it came closer as well, though I did wind up changing my ending about 2/3rds through the story. In many ways, I think the ending we got here is stronger, if only for the symbolism of a story called _Walkabout_ ending with a main character embarking on one. And, well, it also works better with my vague theme for Ranma, which is that he's trying to make himself a better man out of raw, cussed defiance of his father, even when that means doing things he doesn't want to do.

Other than that it went more or less to plan. There was a forth spy in the initial plot sketch, but I realized in the later planning stages that I had entirely too many OCs and, well, she didn't really _do _anything in the story. So I dropped her. I'd also initially planned for Jones to be a latent mage, and for him to be told of this potential at the first class, and start learning. He, not LaFleur, was going to run into a mental block about using newly realized powers, also stemming from a self-image issue. Though his was going to be less about 'only freaks have superpowers' and more 'Suffer Not The Witch To Live.' I decided that was A) too complicated, and B) too angsty. Also, I knew I would be courting enough fire with the domestic terrorists, without adding another hard-right-wing-American stereotype to the cast.

Those, I kept because, well, I wanted to throw the audience a curve ball.

The prototype version of Kendra didn't have any specific accent, though I'd considered giving her some kind of verbal tic. Her accent came to be about halfway through the planning, as I was sketching out random ideas for how the end fight would go down. I jotted down 'spies breaking important things' and, as it was roughly 3 AM after a bloody long day, my brain was in tired-highly-caffeinated-free-association mode, and I muttered, 'spy sappin' mah sentry.' About three sentences of random ideas later, my brain caught up with my mouth and I started laughing like an utter madman. Thus did Kendra acquire a Southern drawl, rather than a tic of saying desu or something like that at the end of every other sentence. Which would have been more annoying, I leave to the judgment of the readers.(I get it, I get it, no more heavy phonetic accents in the future)

It also changed LaFleur's character a bit – changing his weapon of choice to a butterfly knife and giving him a smoking habit. In the earliest drafts, he was going to be a pure unarmed fighter. At that point, the character was going to be a Frenchman, rather than Quebecois, which was a change made just before the story started when I got the idea for a scene of LaFleur and Jones introducing the marines to Earth sports. Initially, it was going to be a scene of talking about baseball. Then I realized I wasn't sure the French even cared about baseball. I briefly considered soccer, then the thought occurred that a Quebecois could let me keep LaFleur's accent and shift the discussion to a sport that A) was popular in the home nations of both characters, and B) I actually like to talk about. Thus, hockey, and a Habs game.

Adding a line dissing the Blue Jays was almost an afterthought. A line dissing the Argos was considered, but dropped because A) there's just too many differences between American and Canadian football, which, while rife for a long and convoluted argument between LaFleur and Jones about the relative merits of both games, would have taken too long and sucked for any non-sports geek in the audience even with Rio and Maller giving it the MST3K treatment and B) The Argos don't _need_ to be dissed, they're just that bad, these days.

Even before I changed his nationality, LaFleur's extreme Frenchness in the early chapters was intended as a front – I was basing a goodly chunk of the character on one of my favorite Captain America villains, Batroc the Leaper, whose Frenchness waxes and wanes depending on how pissed he is at whoever he's fighting – and vanishes completely when he's up against someone he considers reprehensible. The facade generally dropped away for LaFleur as he got more comfortable in his surroundings and, well, enough of the people he was interacting with knew it was a false front anyway, so why bother?

Anyway. The plot lurched on its merry way, helped by my beta readers (godsends, the both of them) and the gang over at Spacebattles, who provided ideas, feedback, and the occasional flame fest. All in all, I think this is a good place to leave the story for a while. Dangling plot threads addressed, characters and events set in motion, and a little hope on the horizon. I have other projects on the proverbial back burner to work on.

Thanks all for reading. I hope you've enjoyed things.

Drunken Grognard, signing off.


End file.
